Scar Tissue and Absolution
by lilacmermaid33
Summary: Will/Mackenzie. Will and Mac find their way back to each other, but she is still racked with guilt. AU after 1.05.
1. Chapter 1

It was more perfect than she could have ever imagined it.

When the idea first began to take shape, Mac's only goal was to see Will smile again. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that by the end of the night, she would be standing in the middle of the newsroom, completely enveloped in his arms.

It was Neal who had provided the initial spark. He had approached her that morning, when word first began to spread that Khalid was being released.

"Mac?" he asked quietly, knocking on the door of the conference room. Mac glanced up from the pad of paper in front of her. She had taken to hiding herself away in there for a few minutes, whenever the buzz of the newsroom got to be too much. With everything that had happened with Wade and TMI still making her feel sick to her stomach every time she thought about it, she was infinitely glad of the solitude today.

"Did corporate really pay Khalid's ransom?"

She eyed him thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"

Neal shrugged. "It just seemed like a longshot. And then it happened so quickly. I wondered if maybe Will…"

Mac weighed her options carefully before she spoke. "I think so too," she said at last. "Will wouldn't say anything if he had, but I know him, and I would bet everything I own that he paid it."

"The thing is … I'd like to help."

Mac raised an eyebrow, so Neal rushed to explain.

"I don't have much, but … Khalid's one of us, you know? I just want to do something."

She nodded. "Let me talk to him tonight and I'll get back to you, alright?"

From there, it had spiraled almost out of control. Mac spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon being approached by her staff, all coming to her with the same request the moment they caught wind of Neal's idea. But it was something Maggie said before the rundown meeting that really made the whole plan come together. "It's not just about Khalid. It's about Will, too. To show him we were really wrong about him, or something. The two of you are our leaders, but that doesn't mean that he has to do it all on his own, you know?"

Mac's eyes widened, and she grabbed for her pad of paper and pen.

"Mac, what is it?" Maggie asked.

Mac tore off the top sheet of paper, handing it to Maggie. "Make sure that all of the staff BUT Will sees this, understand?"

Maggie glanced down at what Mac had written, a grin lighting up her face. "You got it!"

On their last Valentine's Day together, she and Will had gone skating at Rockefeller Center. In reality, they had spent more time falling, and then remaining on their hands and knees on the ice, laughing too hard to get back on their feet. Later, when they came home, they had warmed their cold and bruised bodies with mugs of hot chocolate. It had been the most wonderful day.

No, Will was not at all like those other men that Maggie had spoken of, who hated the holiday because of the 'pressure'. The life that he and Mac had shared may not have been conventionally romantic, but he had never, ever forgotten anything that mattered, and he had made sure that every Valentine's Day was full of smiles and laughter. This year, Mac was determined to give that day back to him.

She could see the exact moment that Will realized what was going on, and that she had to be the one responsible. His face softened somehow, around his eyes and his mouth, and he gave her a look that fell somewhere between rolling his eyes and beginning to cry.

"You did this," he said. It wasn't even a question.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she replied simply, her voice stopping just on the verge of cracking.

As Mac watched him take the few steps towards her, she knew exactly what was about to happen, but she couldn't quite make herself believe it. She let out a tiny gasp as his arms came around her, and then she clung to him, instinctively turning her head and pressing her face into his shoulder. Prepared for him to pull away after a few seconds, once he had come to his senses, she simply didn't know what to do when he kept holding on.

It has been three long years since Will had last held her in his arms, and she had been absolutely sure, right up until this moment, that it would never happen again. Years of emotions flooded up inside her, desperately searching for release, but she firmly stamped them down, holding herself as perfectly still as she could. Will already had a million reasons why he should let her go; she was not going to give him another.

At the first sign of his arms loosening around her, Mac detached herself from him in an instant, biting down on her lip to hold back whatever words or sounds might have been trying to escape. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her chest, looking everywhere but at the man in front of her. She tried to turn away, but was stopped by the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

"Will you have a drink with me?" he asked softly.

"What?" she gasped.

"I don't mean out somewhere, the last thing we need is to show up in another tabloid tomorrow morning. I just meant here, in my office. Will you have a drink with me?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Later, when the line that had snaked all the way across the newsroom had finally dispersed, they sat down together at Will's desk, and he poured them each a glass. Neither of them spoke, and Mac stared down at the glass, grasping it tightly with both hands. It was all she could do to manage short, shallow breaths, and her vocal cords were caught in a stranglehold.

Will's hand reached out to stroke hers, forcing her eyes to lock with his. "Hey, relax," he murmured. "It's just me."

A giggle, slightly hysterical, escaped before she could control it. "Do you think I'm like this about anyone else? You're the only person who makes me crazy like this."

"But we've been working together again for months."

"Yes, _working_. And for the better part of those nine months, I have been doing _everything_ I can not to say or even think anything that strays outside of working relationship territory."

"You mean like when you told me not to date anyone before the end of the commercial break?" he asked, his eyes dancing.

"I didn't say I was always successful," she grumbled.

Will chuckled. He paused for a moment, his hand still not leaving off stroking hers. Finally, he whispered, "Can we try again, Mac?"

And somehow, even though they had been building towards this moment all night, his question caught her as entirely off guard as his hug had done. When she finally found her tongue again, Mac said, "Will, you _have_ to know that's not why I did this tonight."

"Of course it isn't," he replied. "And what you did tonight isn't the reason I'm asking. You just provided me with the opportunity to do what I've been wanting to do for months now. So can we?"

Mac fidgeted in her seat. "I think that's mostly up to you, don't you?"

"No, I think it's up to both of us. Unless … you've moved on?"

Mac rolled her eyes. "I think I've made it abundantly clear just how well I've moved on, Will."

"Yes, because I've been _so_ much better," he returned, matching her tone. "What do you say, Mac? Can we do this? Can we try again?"

"I'd like that," she whispered. He took her hands in his much larger ones, and squeezed.

There would be no simple picking up where they had left off, when it seemed as though Mac's one mistake had ruined them forever. They would not kiss that night, nor the one after it. They would have to start over and get to know each other again, one day at a time.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first part of my story. I love feedback and constructive criticism, so please leave a review!

The thing about me is that I *never* feel like my writing is finished – I can always find at least one more word that needs tweaking, so I know I'll need to go back and rewrite this chapter. Especially since I haven't had a chance yet to rewatch the episode, to make sure I have the timeline right.

Still. Even though I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, I did want to get it posted before the new episode tonight, before canon has a chance to make what I've written 'wrong'.


	2. Chapter 2

When Mac finally crawled into her bed late that night, a stunned, tentative smile still graced her lips. She wrapped the sheets tightly around her bare shoulders, trying to recapture the warmth of Will's embrace, but it was a poor substitute.

The chaos of the last few days finally catching up with her, Mac felt as though she could sleep for a week. But as she lay there, replaying the events of the last few hours in her mind, Mac's eyes stubbornly refused to remain shut. Over and over that night, Mac felt herself drifting off, but thoughts of Will would cross her sleepy mind once more, and her heart would give a sudden thud, jerking her back to consciousness.

"_Can we try again?"_ he had asked her. Lying in the darkness, Mac pinched her arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. If she was being honest, Mac's insomnia had as much to do with nerves as with euphoria. What if she woke up tomorrow, only to discover that this impossible turn of events was only a dream? The mere thought of it was enough to leave her struggling for breath.

Mac tossed and turned for hours, her legs becoming hopelessly tangled in the twisted sheets, and she changed pillows a dozen times, searching for a cooler place to rest her head. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Mac managed to clear her mind, just long enough to fall asleep.

The remaining hours of the night were anything but restful, however, and she woke early the next morning, feeling blurry and on edge. The frayed threads of a dream teased at the edge of her consciousness, but every time Mac reached out to examine them more closely, the vague recollections dissolved entirely, like smoke dissipating into thin air.

The foggy feeling followed Mac for the rest of the day. She attended the economics panel that morning, as promised, though she felt sure that she was sleepwalking through every minute of it. She could not have recounted, later, a single word of what she had said, nor even what she had been asked. That nobody laughed or challenged her suggested that, somehow, she must not have acquitted herself too badly.

It was well into the afternoon before Mac finally made it to the newsroom, fortified by a large coffee that managed to keep most of her exhaustion at bay. Under Jim's direction, the rundown was well in hand, with coverage of Libya and the other uprisings taking up much of the hour.

The first time that Mac caught Will's gaze, they exchanged nervous smiles, and her heart leaped in her chest. After that, though, they hardly had a minute to speak for the rest of the day. It was only after Will signed off the air for the evening, and she had finished going through her notes with the staff, that they were able to find a moment alone.

Mac made her way to Will's office, the last of the caffeine that had buoyed her up for the last few hours wearing off. She leaned in the doorway of his office, and he smiled when he saw her.

"Time for a drink?" Will asked, as he had the day before. Mac tried to nod, but she couldn't suppress an enormous yawn. Will chuckled, and Mac joined him, sheepishly.

"Not tonight," Mac said, regretfully. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Me neither," Will admitted, stepping around his desk to take her in his arms.

He hugged her gently, differently from the night before. If Will felt any kind of awkwardness in their embrace, he concealed it well, but Mac felt clumsy, as though her hands couldn't decide where it was appropriate for them to fall. What were the rules when it came to ex-boyfriends with whom you were 'trying again', after cheating on them the first time?

Mac was so exhausted by the time she got home that night that she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. She would wish later that she had never slept at all.

The dreams were nothing more than a series of fragmented images, but each one felt like a knife plunging into her stomach. _Will, when he had seen her again for the first time, looking like he was seeing a ghost. Will, after she had sent that humiliating email to the entire staff, gazing at her like she was a complete stranger, someone he no longer even recognized. Will, when she had told him the truth and ruined his life._

If those images were like knives, the ones that followed were the lemon juice and the salt_. Will carrying her to the First Aid tent at the New York Marathon. Will beaming with pride as she accepted her first Peabody. Will serenading her on their anniversary._

_Her bitter words to Jim earlier that week: _I deserved what I got_._

By the time morning came, Mac felt physically ill. How could she have ever thought that they could make this work? On her way to the office, she bought a large peppermint tea, though she knew that it would do nothing to calm the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Will took one look at her as he entered the pitch meeting, and his brow furrowed with worry. "What's wrong?" he mouthed across the table, as the rest of the staff took their seats. Mac held up a hand, brushing aside his concern, and taking another long sip of tea.

When the meeting was over, she escaped to her office and shut the door, knowing that she had very little time before he would follow her there.

_This isn't fair_, Mac thought miserably, one hand pressed to her mouth. _You've got to end it now, before things get too far_. She took several long, deep breaths, preparing herself for what she needed to say.

But when he knocked on her door less than a minute later, she found that she just couldn't do it. How could she break his heart _again_? How could anyone willingly give him up?

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"Nothing," she lied. "Nothing, I'm fine."

Will rolled his eyes, and Mac cursed the fact that he had always been able to read her so well. He gently removed the cup of tea from her hand, sniffing its contents.

"You're feeling sick?"

Mac shrugged helplessly. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "Honestly, Will—"

But he was already feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, and she couldn't resist the impulse to lean into his soothing touch. Will drew her head to his shoulder, and Mac's breath caught in her throat. She wondered if she would ever become re-accustomed to Will actively engaging her in physical contact. She didn't think so.

"You don't feel feverish," he said, his gentle fingers stroking her neck.

"Must have been something I ate," Mac replied, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be fine, I promise."

Somehow, she got through the rest of the day. It was better when she was working, when she was distracted, when she didn't have time to think.

The dreams came again that night, the same series of images. This time, Mac fought her way back to wakefulness, categorically unwilling to subject herself to another full night of torment. Still, the cold, dark hours loomed before her, menacing, and it wasn't long before she was reaching for her Blackberry. She turned on her lamp, and spent the rest of the night researching possible stories for the show.

The rest of the week continued in exactly the same way, an exhausted Mac throwing herself into her work, getting by on just an hour or two of sleep. She was soon relying on mug after mug of the strongest, vilest coffee imaginable, just to survive each day. She spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror each morning, until she was sure that she had applied enough concealer to disguise the dark circles under her eyes.

No one seemed to notice Mac's glassy, unfocused eyes, or the way that she kept stumbling over her words. No one, that is, but Will, who cast her increasingly alarmed looks every time she lost her train of thought. Somehow, she managed to keep his concern at bay, and miraculously they made it through Friday's show without incident.

The weekend brought no end to Mac's troubles, however. In fact, the time away from the office just meant that she had more empty hours to fill. She busied herself with chores as best she could, and spent the remainder of the time on her Blackberry. Then, on Sunday morning, Will called.

"Have dinner with me," he said, without preamble.

"Good morning to you too, Will," Mac teased.

"Good morning. Will you come over for dinner?"

Mac agreed, and that evening found her riding the elevator up to Will's apartment. She summoned every ounce of energy that she had, knowing that no excuses would satisfy Will tonight if she couldn't string more than two words together.

The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread reached Mac's nose before the elevator doors even parted. "Dinner smells delicious," Mac said, inhaling deeply. She presented Will with a wine bottle, and he took her coat, revealing a dress that she had changed four times before leaving home.

"I've missed your cooking," Mac confessed as they sat down, and then promptly grimaced. _Whose fault is that?_ her inner voice taunted.

As always, Will realized what she was thinking, and he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, before deftly steering the conversation towards News Night, sounding her out on how she wanted to tackle the stories of the uprisings in the coming week.

_And there he goes again,_ Mac thought, _doing everything he can to make _you_ feel better_. A stab of guilt hit her at this, but she allowed him. Even on her worst day, a good discussion about politics and current events always brought out the best in her, and she was desperate for this evening to go well.

This line of conversation was enough to carry them all the way through dinner, into the kitchen, where she washed and he dried their dishes, and back into the living room, where they settled onto the couch with another glass of wine. When her eyes finally became too heavy to keep them open, Mac glanced reluctantly down at her watch. She almost dropped her glass when she saw the time.

"Will!" she interrupted, "It's after eleven! I've got to get home!"

Will blinked, equally surprised at how much time had passed. He stood to grab her coat, but then stopped short. "I don't think you're going anywhere tonight, Mac," he said, gesturing behind her.

Mac turned, looking out the large windows that took up one whole wall of Will's apartment. Heavy snow was plummeting from the sky, almost entirely obscuring the view of the city lights.

Mac's heart lurched. "I'm sure the cabs are still running," she tried, knowing as she said it that Will would never accept this.

He should his head, going over to the window and looking down. "The roads already look terrible. I'd feel a lot better if you just stayed."

Mac squirmed.

"I have a guest room," Will added, reading her mind once more. "I'm not suggesting any more than that. I don't want to rush things any more than you do."

Mac nodded, though her unease mounted again as he showed her the room, just across the hall from his own. He handed her a towel and a new toothbrush.

"Need anything else?" he asked.

"Can I borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?" Mac asked, feigning nonchalance. Will eyed her strangely, but he crossed the hall to his room and found one, tossing it to her.

"Since when do you wear anything to bed?" he asked her.

"It's February, it's cold," she said, but she couldn't stop the blush rising in her cheeks.

Mac showered and changed before climbing into bed, but she made no effort to turn off the light. She was not going to have the dreams again tonight, not with Will right across the hall. Instead, she reached immediately for her Blackberry, settling in for another long and sleepless night.

It was two in the morning when Will opened his door, intending to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. The pool of yellow light spilling from under Mac's door stopped him in his tracks.

Mac was sitting up in the bed, completely absorbed in her reading. So focused was she that he didn't even hear Will's soft knock, or the creak of the door opening. At the sound of his voice, though, Mac nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I saw your light on. What are you still doing up?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.

Mac's head jerked up in surprise, and as her hair fell back, Will caught sight of her face, free of makeup for the first time in days. He cursed loudly.

"When's the last time you slept?" he demanded, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.

Mac sighed deeply, regret and liberation warring within her. The last thing she wanted was to add another weight to Will's shoulders, but it had been absolutely exhausting maintaining this façade for him, and she could not have kept it going much longer.

"What's today? Sunday night, I think," she answered truthfully.

Will cursed again, shooting her an exasperated look. "Why didn't you tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, Will rounded the bed, sitting up against the headboard on the left side.

"Will, come on now," Mac protested, her heart racing.

"No arguments," Will said firmly. "I can't have my EP letting me go off the rails because she hasn't slept in over a week. Come on." He propped a couple pillows behind him and lay back, opening his arms for her.

Mac shot him one last pleading look, but Will would not be moved. She reached over to flick off the light, and then slowly, very slowly, she rolled over onto her stomach, inching slightly down the bed. Obeying old muscle memory more than anything else, she brought her bent arms below her chest, and tucked her head beneath Will's chin. Will wrapped his arms snugly around her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Pleasure, guilt, and overwhelming relief surged through Mac's veins once more, and she could have wept. She swallowed hard, trying to contain the rush of emotions, but she couldn't stifle a whimper, and then a shudder that shook her whole body. When she had finally stopped shaking, Mac went rigid in his arms.

There was a long pause, just long enough that Mac thought Will might let that one go as well. "What are you so afraid of?" Will whispered at last.

Mac didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Where could she possibly start? "I'm just trying _really_ hard not to screw this up," she answered lamely, her voice quavering dangerously.

Will's arms wrapped themselves more tightly around her, and Mac shuddered again in the cocoon. "Relax," Will whispered, more insistently. "It's been less than a week. Let's give this a fair chance before we decide that it's not going to work, okay?"

"Okay," Mac whispered, almost inaudibly. Will kissed her hair again, and she buried her face in his chest, taking long, deep breaths. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension began to drain from her body, and she drifted off into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.

When Mac woke once more, it was to the soothing feeling of Will's fingers stroking through her hair. Mac didn't open her eyes right away, wanting to hold onto this moment for just a few seconds longer.

"What time is it?" she mumbled into Will's shirt.

"It's 10:30," came Will's amused voice. "I didn't want to wake you, but we need to be at work in half an hour."

Mac's eyes shot open, and she tried to push herself up to look at the clock, but Will's arms still held her fast. After a moment's struggle, she lay her head back on his chest.

"I slept for more than _eight_ hours?" she asked, bewildered. She angled herself so she could see Will's face. He nodded. "I haven't done that in three years." Then, a lump rose in her throat. She swallowed. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?" she asked.

"Not much," Will admitted. "But it was enough. You needed this."

Mac couldn't deny that. This was exactly what she needed. She just wondered how long it could be before Will realized that it was far, far more than she deserved.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

Thank you so much for the positive response to chapter 1! As always, I love to hear any kind of feedback, so please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3

The day passed quickly, and Mac was tired by the end of the evening, but it was a _good_ tired, a feeling of having worked hard and produced a show that made her proud. She had no sooner stepped foot in her apartment after work that night when her phone rang. Mac smiled when she saw Will's name.

"Miss me already?" she felt good enough to tease. Her smile widened when he chuckled in return.

"Are you home yet?" Will asked.

"Just walked in the door," she said, balancing her phone under her chin as she juggled her purse and her coat and shut the door behind her. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely," he said simply.

Mac's heart swelled in her chest. Could he be any more perfect? She was the luckiest woman who had ever lived. "I'm here," she repeated, unable to say any more without choking up.

"Have a good night," Will said, ending the call. Coming from anyone else, this would have been a mindless pleasantry, but coming from Will, and coming on the heels of the night they had just shared, Mac saw it plainly for the gentle prodding that he intended. The warmth that had filled her from the sound of his voice stayed with her as she climbed into bed a little while later, and it carried her off into another blissful night's rest.

The next morning, Will initiated another new routine. He arrived in the newsroom early that day, and found Mac where he knew she would be – in her office, already poring over her notes. Mac smiled when she saw him, but Will said nothing, merely rounding her desk and taking her hands in his. He tugged her to her feet and into a long hug, burying his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply, his warm breath tickling her skin.

Mac could never quite decide whether this gesture was meant for his benefit or her own, but she could almost feel her equilibrium leveling out as she stood in his arms, and she came to rely on this moment of her day far more than on any cup of coffee she had ever tasted. Will never uttered a single word until he had pulled away from her, but Mac hoped that the moment brought him even a fraction of the peace that it gave her.

Despite working thirty feet apart for the better part of a year, Will and Mac had to get used to being around each other again, to talking about themselves and their lives, and not just what story to lead with that night. They began to take their lunches together, in the privacy of Will's office, feeling each other out on the new boundaries of their relationship.

In an awkward, stilted conversation that had her wringing her hands nervously until he grabbed them and held them still, Mac confided to Will that she was afraid of things between them accelerating any further for now. What had happened between them on that snowy Sunday night had been absolutely unavoidable, given the circumstances, but anything more, even kissing him, was not something she was ready for. Mac couldn't put it into words, but Will seemed to understand anyway, that if they renewed their physical relationship now, if she let herself become re-accustomed to the pleasure they had once shared, and it didn't work out, she might actually not recover.

Will was so understanding that it actually _hurt_. He agreed without question, content to let Mac set the pace of their relationship for the time being. She was still uneasy, but Will kept her laughing and smiling so much when they were together that she forgot, most of the time, to worry about the future. Whenever Mac was alone, however, she couldn't help but wonder when the universe would realize she was utterly unworthy of this much happiness, and her streak of good luck would simply run out.

In the weeks that followed, Will and Mac settled into an easy, comfortable rhythm of lunches, work, and casual touches. They looked even more forward to the weekends, spending long evenings at Will's apartment, even if it were for nothing more than Chinese takeout, a movie, an absurdly cutthroat game of Scrabble. Mac lived for the times when they were curled up on opposite sides of the couch, waiting breathlessly for the moment when Will would inevitably reach over and pull her up against his side, his palm never leaving its place on her thigh.

And always, every night without fail, Will called Mac at bedtime, just to say goodnight.

Then, one Friday in mid-March, Will unexpectedly decided to alter this rhythm. After pulling back from their morning hug, he presented Mac with an envelope. She opened it suspiciously, revealing two tickets, prime seats, for the Saturday evening production of The Phantom of the Opera.

Mac's heart leapt and sank and clenched in her chest, completing an entire gymnastics circuit all in the span of just a few seconds. "Will, I can't accept these," she protested, her throat suddenly dry.

"Sure you can," Will cajoled, smiling at her. "And I've made us dinner reservations too."

Mac didn't need to ask where. She knew that the following evening would find them at her very favourite restaurant, sitting at _their_ table, and she wished she could put into words for him why it was all just _too much_.

Mac had not allowed herself to return here even once since she and Will had broken up, and the torrent of memories that came flooding back as he held the door open for her was overwhelming. Will had brought her here to celebrate nearly every major occasion during their two years together, and a great many other times 'just because'. Every mouth-watering bite was just as perfect as she remembered it, and she blushed deeply every time another moan escaped her lips, making Will smile ever more broadly.

They walked the familiar path to the theatre hand in hand, arriving with only minutes to spare before the curtain rose. Settling into their seats, instinct would have had Mac slipping her arm through Will's, as they had done a hundred times before, but she held herself still, needing Will to make the first move. He did nothing at first, and Mac soon turned her attention to the action beginning to unfold onstage. Then, timed perfectly to coincide with the first triumphant chords of the overture, Will slid his arm around her. As the chandelier came alight and started to rise above them, Will's thumb began to stroke her back, teasing at the edge of fabric below her bare shoulder blade. Mac's skin erupted in goosebumps, and they didn't fade until the lights came back on at intermission.

In the show's second half, just at the moment where Mac's heart always broke into a million pieces, Will's hand found hers in the darkness, and he squeezed. Mac squeezed back, and though she had seen this musical dozens of times, she cried harder than ever before. Will was kind enough, after the show, to pretend not to notice her tears.

Lying in bed that night, Mac squirmed as wave after wave of emotion washed over her, too many and too complicated to catalogue. Her heart clenched painfully, as she thought about the lengths Will had gone to – would _always_ go to – to create the perfect evening for her. She thought about his gentleness and his patience, about how he always seemed to know just the right thing to say to calm her down.

Tonight had been perfect, there was no other word for it. It felt as if they had taken a giant step back in time, back to before Mac had made the biggest, stupidest mistake of her life. Will was acting as if none of it had ever happened, but Mac simply couldn't do that. Not a day – not a _minute_ – went by when she wasn't reminded of the fact that Will deserved far better than the woman who had already broken his heart.

_There's nothing I can do to make it up to him_, Mac thought miserably. But as she drifted off to sleep that night, she knew that she was going to have to try.

She started with small things, bringing homemade cookies in her lunch so she could share them with Will, wearing the skirt she knew was his favourite, because of the tempting glimpse it gave of her calves as she walked. These gestures made him smile, but they were not nearly enough to atone for her transgressions. Then, on Friday, Will proposed another spaghetti dinner at his apartment, and she leapt at her chance.

"Actually," she said, a little too brightly, "I thought it might be nice if you came over to my place for a change."

Will agreed, but by the next evening, Mac was regretting ever opening her big mouth. An enormous pot of water boiled away on the stove before her, and she raked a shaky hand through her ponytail for the umpteenth time, but there was simply no way around it. These lobsters were not going to cook themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Mac seized them up before she could change her mind and dropped them into the pot, slamming the lid down after them. Mac's whole body writhed squeamishly. She didn't mind _eating_ crustaceans, but having to actually _touch_ anything fresh out of the ocean was about the most repulsive thing she could think of.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Mac turned her frazzled attention back to the mushroom risotto simmering away on the other side of the stove. She wondered, not for the first time, how Will made it all look so easy.

Mac's heart nearly stopped a few minutes later, when the sound of the buzzer announced Will's arrival. She gazed down at her jeans and t-shirt in dismay, and tried to smooth down her hair, but there was no time to do anything about any of it now. Hurrying to let him in, Mac let out a long string of curses that would have impressed even Will, but by the time she opened the door to greet him, she had a smile plastered on her face.

"Hi, you're early," Mac babbled, flustered. "Come on in, dinner's not quite ready yet, I've got to get back to the kitchen." She turned and fled back to the stove.

"You're cooking?" called Will, closing the door behind him.

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Mac said drily. "I can cook, Will."

"I know you _can_," he said, halting in the doorway to the kitchen. "Is that _lobster_?"

They were soon seated down to their meal. Will inhaled deeply, bending low over his plate. He hummed with pleasure. "My favourite," he said. "But you really didn't have to go to so much trouble."

Mac shrugged. She hardly tasted a thing during the entire meal, too preoccupied with making sure Will was enjoying himself. When they finished cleaning their plates, Will reached over and swiped her cheek with his thumb, licking the chocolate icing he found there.

Mac retreated into the kitchen to get the brownies she had baked, her cheeks burning. How long had he been staring at the smear on her face? She scrubbed at her cheek to get rid of the rest of it.

The rest of the month passed in much the same way, with Mac attempting increasingly grand gestures to make Will happy. She considered anything less than seamless perfection a miserable failure, so she was frequently left disappointed. Will continued to be his usual wonderful self and so, despite her best efforts, Mac could feel herself falling further and further behind in her quest to pay Will back a little of what she owed him.

Mac's desperation to impress him culminated, at the end of the month, in her presenting an astonished Will with tickets to see a Monster Trucks show that weekend. He stared at them blankly at first. "Are you serious?" he asked at last.

"Of course," Mac replied. "I know how much you loved it the last time you went." That had been a few months before cheated on him, and she had teased him about it, calling him a teenager masquerading in the form of a grown man. He had laughed, truly not bothered, and gone with some of the guys from work.

It was about as awful as Mac had anticipated. Will seemed to be enjoying himself, but it was hard to tell, with the loud noise making her feel like her eardrums would never recover, and the smell of the exhaust going straight to her head.

_I'd almost rather be back in Afghanistan_, Mac thought moodily, her headache growing. She watched, with mind-numbing boredom, as yet another vehicle sailed through the air, no more impressed than she had been when the first one had done exactly the same thing over two hours before. Will nudged her knee with his, and she forced a smile when she saw he was watching her, a strange expression on his face.

In the week that followed, Mac and Will had dinner at her apartment nearly every night, and she could see that the honeymoon period, with Will being on his best behaviour to impress her was coming to an end at last.

Every night that week, Will absently tossed his coat on the back of a chair as they entered her apartment. Mac had had Will pretty well trained when they were together before, and she had hoped he would have retained those lessons, but clearly a lifetime of the ingrained habits of bachelorhood were hard to break.

"Indian okay?" Will asked. Mac acquiesced, though she would only be picking at it, as the spices in the curry Will loved so much had never agreed with her. She waited until he was on the phone, ordering dinner, before picking up his coat and going to the closet to hang it up.

After dinner, as they sat together on the couch, the chaste kisses on the cheek or the forehead they had so far restricted themselves to kept threatening to turn into something more, and Will's fingers began to wander ever more dangerously. Mac said nothing, merely entwining her fingers with his to distract him, but she wondered, uneasily, how long he could possibly remain satisfied with things as they were now.

Mac was left at the end of each evening with a stack of dirty dishes or empty takeout containers, and as she tidied up, she tried to calculate how these minor annoyances factored in to the economy of give and take between them that she had established in her head. Even if they helped to close the gap between them a little bit, Mac knew that she would never catch up.

Though he and Mac didn't speak about it, something had obviously gotten under Will's skin in the first week of April. He was fine when they were alone together – a little quieter, maybe, a little more pensive – but at work it was another story. He snapped at the staff more frequently than he had in months, and Mac felt like she was playing a constant game of tug-of-war with him on the air, as his tenacious lines of questioning inched closer and closer to crossing the line.

It all came to a head at the end of the week, when News Night invited Sutton Wall to talk about Rick Santorum's impending entrance to the presidential race. As Mac tied her hair back and donned her headset that night, she tried to convince herself that she had nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, she knew Will and his present mood too well to believe it.

The interview went exactly according to plan at first, with Will grilling his guest on Santorum's stance on gay marriage. Then, things took an ugly turn.

"Does it bother you that Mr. Santorum thinks there's something wrong with you that should be fixed?"

Mac was on her feet in an instant. "Easy does it, Will," she warned, but he wasn't listening.

Mr. Wall was more than able to hold his own, but Mac still grimaced when Will told their guest that Santorum saw him as "a sick deviant who's threatening the fabric of society." Mac chewed her nails, watching the skirmish unfold on the screen before her, knowing that it wouldn't be long before she was going to have to intervene.

"I will say it again: Mr. Santorum is a great man who would be a great president. He has never treated me with anything but the utmost respect."

"Except for finding you disgusting," Will jibed.

"Stop. Hitting. Him," Mac implored, and there was a note of desperation in her words that finally managed to cut through Will's tirade, stopping him dead in his tracks. His face froze, and he trailed off mid-sentence. For a moment, a look that held at once pain and revulsion rippled across his face, before his eyes went blank and unseeing.

"Will! Hey, wake up!" Mac said sharply, snapping Will out of it and back to himself. He fumbled clumsily into an unplanned commercial break during which he composed himself and apologized to his guest with no prompting from her. As the commercial ended, and Will reiterated his apology on the record, Mac eased herself back into her chair, knowing that he had gotten the message.

"I'm sorry," Will said simply, as they slipped into his driver's car after the show that night. She squeezed his arm in silent acceptance, though she wished he would tell her what was on his mind.

They stopped to pick up a pizza on the way to Mac's place that evening, and Will tossed his coat over the back of the couch the minute they walked through the door.

"Mind if I check on the Bulls game?" Will asked, already reaching for the remote.

"Go ahead," Mac replied, slicing the pizza and pouring their drinks. She was carrying it all into the living room to join him when she saw Will reach into his pocket, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and inhaled, before glancing up to look over at Mac, who had frozen, watching him.

Mac blinked, too surprised to process what she was seeing. A muscle twitched slightly in her neck, but she said nothing, and Will turned his attention back to the TV as Mac set their dinner down on the coffee table and slid onto the couch beside him.

Will exhaled loudly. He drained his glass in one gulp, and butt out his cigarette in the empty glass. "I don't want us to be like this," he said, turning to face Mac.

"What are you talking about?" she asked blankly.

Will scowled. "You know I hate it when you pretend to be less intelligent than you are."

Mac crossed her arms in front of her chest, frowning with confusion and irritation. "I'm sorry, but you're going to need to give me more to go on this time."

Will looked away from her. "Recreating the Rudy scene was the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me, but for the last few weeks, you've been bending over backwards to give me everything I want, even when it makes you miserable. I just lit a cigarette in your apartment, Mac, knowing how much you loathe the smell, and you didn't say a word because you _didn't want to bother me_. You're being Leno."

That stung, and Mac's throat went dry. "I just want you to be happy," she said stiffly, her mind working furiously for some way to salvage this situation. "Is that so terrible?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Of course not, but you're taking it to the extreme. The Monster Trucks? You were miserable the entire night. The curry? You hate Indian food. I've left a mess behind me every night this week, and never once did you tell me to clean up after myself. Letting me smoke in here, when you know you'll be coughing for a week because of it? It's _ridiculous_."

Mac's eyes narrowed, and she got to her feet, coming to stand in front of him. "So you've, what, just been testing me these last couple weeks?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Will said, in that flippant way that he knew was like sandpaper on her skin. "Ever since the Monster Trucks. I wanted to see how far you'd let me take it." Then he turned serious. "I know you want to wait before we become intimate again, and I'm fine with that, but I've been pushing that this week too. I know you noticed, and you've been distracting me, but what if I didn't stop? What if I decide that we've waited long enough, and that I want to sleep with you, even though I know you're not there yet? Were you just going to let me take advantage of you and push you into something you're not ready for?

Mac glared down at Will, angrier than she had been in many months. "I would not," she growled furiously. "And you know you'd _never_ do such a thing, not in a million years. I can't believe you'd even _say_ that. How dare you?"

Will deflated, most of his anger evaporating in an instant. "You're right, and I'm sorry. That was way too low," he said, scrubbing his face with one hand. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."

"What about tonight?" Mac snapped, not ready to let go of her own ire. "Going off on Sutton Wall like that, was that a test too? I've told you before, mess with me however you like, but _do not_ mess with our show!"

"No," Will said softly. "No, tonight – that was just me being a jerk. I went too far, but I _did_ stop when you reined me in. I told you I was sorry for that."

Mac sighed, her anger fading too. "I know you did," she said, allowing herself to return to the couch, though she stayed opposite from where Will was sitting, and her arms remained folded defensively over her chest. "I don't know what you expect me to say," she said wearily.

"I expect you fight back!" Will entreated. "I expect you to smack me over the head when I'm being ridiculous. I don't _ever_ want you to let me mess with you, at work or anywhere. You told me yourself I could have any brainless girl I want, because I'm rich and famous, but I don't _want_ that. How could you think I would? I want _you_, but I don't even recognize the person you've become these last few weeks."

Will paused for air before going on. "This isn't us, it isn't who we are. We've always been at our best when we're sparring a little, you and I. You could make me quit smoking again, you've done that before. All you have to do is _ask_ and I'll quit for you. You demand perfection from our show. Why won't you demand better from me?"

Mac listened to every word of this speech in a kind of stunned silence. She wanted, more than anything, to tell Will that he was right, that if she just stopped trying so hard, and they went back to being themselves, everything would turn out for the best. But hadn't they already tried that once before? It hadn't worked because she had felt, even then, that she was not worthy of him. Now, with the her infidelity weighing heavily on Mac's mind at all times, balancing the scales seemed next to impossible.

Will was staring at her now, plainly waiting for a response. Mac settled, reluctantly, for a half-truth that she knew would still upset him.

"You already _are_ better," she said, not knowing where else to begin.

Will's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.

Mac sighed, searching for the words to make him understand. "This whole time, ever since we got back together, it's been almost entirely one-sided, you giving and me taking, me falling apart and you putting me back together. Every day you do one more amazing thing for me, and it reminds me over and over again how absurdly perfect you've been about absolutely everything."

"So, what's the problem?" Will asked, cautiously.

"I don't deserve it," Mac said quietly. She took a sip of her drink to avoid having to meet Will's gaze.

"_Excuse_ me?"

Mac slammed her glass back down onto the coffee table and faced him again, needing a little indignation to get through this confession. "I feel like I'm lucky just to have you back at all, alright? I owe you _so much_ now. If I have to sit through a stupid Monster Truck show or eat curry for a week to make it up to you even a little bit, then that's a small price to pay."

Will's jaw dropped. "_That's_ what this is about? Are you _kidding_ me? You don't owe me _anything_!"

Mac sighed tiredly. "Will—"

"No, I'm serious," he said. "We could spend forever going back and forth over who owes who—"

"Whom," Mac interjected quietly.

"What?"

"It's 'who owes _whom_'," Mac repeated. There was clearly no point in simply letting Will have his way anymore. If he wanted banter, then that's exactly what he was going to get.

Will rolled his eyes, exasperated. "We could spend the rest of our lives arguing over who owes what to _whom_," he stressed. "But what's the point? Wouldn't you rather just enjoy what we've got? I was perfectly happy with where we were up until a few weeks ago."

Mac could think of a million reasons why this was simply not enough, but she knew better than to press the issue now, when she could see that Will had had enough of talking about it. He seemed content to ignore her concerns, in the hopes that they would just go away on their own. Mac knew better, but she was certainly in no hurry to anger him into ending things, no matter how unworthy she felt.

Will had used the words "the rest of our lives", a phrase which was not lost on Mac. Knowing that this was how he saw their future both elated and terrified her. She imagined the years stretching before them, and Will continuing to give and give and give, until she had drained him, and he had absolutely nothing left. She imagined his enormous heart filling gradually with nothing more than bitter resentment, and all of it directed at her.

She sighed, sliding across the length of the couch to sit beside Will, curling her legs up beneath her and leaning her head on his arm. She reached for his hand and placed it on her knee, letting him know that their fight was over for the moment. If this was going to work, they would have to deal with it all eventually, and she'd have to tell him the whole story, without leaving anything out. For now, though, the air between them was a little clearer, and she would have to stop trying to be perfect, stop trying to even the score.

"Will?" she said, lifting her head. He looked down at her inquisitively. "I want you to quit smoking," she said firmly, smacking him lightly over the head as she reached for a cold slice of pizza.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Once again, thank you so much for reading! I've really appreciated the positive response to this story so far.

I've been very nervous about this chapter, because it's a little different from the first two, so I hope you'll let me know what you think! I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing, even once it's already been posted. I thought about posting this one as two or three separate chapters, but ultimately I decided to keep it together.


	4. Chapter 4

When Will left her apartment that night, Mac felt cautiously hopeful that the two of them could make this work. He may not want to talk about their issues, may want to keep his head firmly buried in the sand, but she knew he had heard her, and Will never forgot a thing, especially where Mac was concerned. Sooner or later, they would really talk, and everything would be just fine.

By the next morning, however, Mac's fragile hopes had given way to anxiety. It was so much easier to believe that he wasn't slipping away from her when he was there, warm and solid and in the same room. She was just reaching for her phone, to ask Will if she could come over earlier than they had planned, when it rang in her hand. Mac smiled when she saw Will's name, but it faded almost at once, when he told her he was calling to cancel their dinner plans.

"I'm just feeling under the weather," he said. "I wouldn't be very good company today."

Mac's heart plunged into her stomach. "I could come over and bring you some soup," she offered, somewhat frantically, but Will refused.

"I think I'm just going to lay low this weekend. I'll see you Monday, alright?"

"Feel better," Mac murmured queasily, hanging up with trembling hands. She desperately tried to ignore the voice in the back of her mind, the one that was telling her it was all over.

Last night Will had talked about "the rest of our lives", but in the harsh light of day, rational thought had clearly made him think better of it. _You scared him off_, Mac berated herself. _He didn't even want to talk to you just now, he could hardly get off the phone fast enough. You knew he was perfectly happy pretending nothing ever happened, and you had to go and make him relive it, talking about making things up to him? How stupid are you?_

When Monday morning came, Mac had to drag herself unwillingly out of bed. The knowledge that dozens of reporters and editors and crew members were counting on her made it easier, as did the promise of a long day of work to distract her. Clinging to the utterly unrealistic expectation that she would be able to avoid seeing Will alone today, Mac squared her shoulders and strode into the newsroom when the elevator reached the twenty-fifth floor.

Always an early bird, Mac was accustomed to finding herself among the first News Night staff members at work each day, and she welcomed the quiet of the newsroom before the rush got underway. She anticipated having at least a couple hours to work this morning before the others began to bombard her with questions and demands. The last thing that Mac expected was to find that her office was already occupied when she got there.

Will was sitting in the chair across from her desk, hands tightly gripping the armrests, one ankle jiggling restlessly on the opposite knee. Mac started violently when she saw him, her hand flying to her chest. Then she took a closer look.

On the desk before him sat Will's lighter, every ashtray he owned, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. His face had taken on a slightly greyish tinge, his eyes were red, and the lines around them were more prominent than they had been a few days earlier. The moment Will's eyes locked with hers, he stood and swept all of it into the garbage can beside Mac's desk.

A rush of love and pride and relief surged up inside Mac, and when Will pulled her in for a desperate hug, Mac squeezed him back just as tightly. The hug went on longer than usual, Will's face remaining buried against her neck, inhaling, as if her skin held something that could replace the nicotine his system was craving. Mac let him stay there for as long as he needed, gently stroking his back.

"I didn't say it had to be overnight," Mac chided when Will finally pulled away, a shy smile lingering on her face. He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, but no amount of terse behaviour was going to bother her today. "I just wish you had told me," she said, keeping one hand on his arm. "I was worried! Are you feeling alright?"

Will nodded, but his face told a different story, and she spent much of the morning watching him grimace and rub his forehead whenever he thought she wasn't looking. When it was finally time for lunch, Mac steered Will determinedly toward his office. Shutting the door behind them, she turned off the lights and set to work closing the blinds.

"Mac, I'm fine," Will protested weakly, as she eased him into his chair.

"Shut up," she said gently. "Just let me do this for you, okay?"

It was a mark of how much Will's head was pounding that he didn't offer any further argument, merely submitting to her ministrations. Hopping up onto the edge of his desk, Mac took his head in her hands, her fingers slowly massaging his temples and the base of his neck. Will moaned softly, leaning more heavily into her hands, and her heart clenched in her chest.

All too soon, there was a knock on the door, and Mac had just enough time to stand and put a little distance between herself and Will before Sloan entered his office.

"Sorry, you got a second?" the young woman asked. Then she paused, blinking in the darkness. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Of course not," Mac replied, her voice light and easy. She and Will were not precisely hiding the fact that they had grown closer in recent months, but neither had they gone out of their way to tell anyone just how much closer that really was. As far as anyone knew, they were good friends again, but nothing more, and for now, they were both content to keep it that way.

Mac crossed to Will's bathroom, finding a glass and filling it with water. Sloan eyed her strangely, before turning back to Will and getting to the point. "So, I'm hosting Elliott's show tonight," she told him.

"I know," he replied. "I'm the one who suggested you."

"You really think I can do it?" she asked uncertainly.

"I have no idea," said Will shortly. "So, we're going to find out."

Mac set the glass of water down in front of him, shooting him a glare that Sloan couldn't see. Will grimaced, sipping the water as Mac fished a couple of Advil from her purse and handed them to him. "Thanks," he muttered, and swallowed them without another word.

Sloan watched this exchange with continued interest, before addressing Will once more. "Alright, well, your exuberant confidence notwithstanding, I have the spokesperson from TEPCO, and he just told me off the record that Reactor 3 is causing what is a level seven, not a level five radiation leak. What's the trick to getting him to say it on the record?"

"There's no trick," Will said. "You just don't stop until he tells the truth."

"What do you mean you don't stop?" Sloan persisted.

"I mean you don't stop," Will said impatiently. Mac could almost see a lecture forming on Will's tongue, so she flashed him another look of warning. "Sloan, I watch your show at 4:00, and you're brilliant, but you let guests say things that I know you know aren't true, and then you just move on. Ask the follow-up, and then demonstrate with facts how the guest is lying. That's all it is."

Mac inclined her head slightly, knowing that Will would have liked to say much more than this, and grateful that he had held himself back, if only for her sake.

Sloan nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "Got it," she said. "Thanks. See you later, Kenzie," she added absently, already halfway out the door.

A flicker of irritation involuntarily crossed Mac's face, but she hastened to mask it when she saw Will staring at her, his frown darkening. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mac cut him off, resuming her gentle massage until it was time to get back to work.

After the show that night, Mac packed Will off in his car, with strict instructions to put himself straight to bed, before she headed back upstairs. She still had plenty of notes to go over with the staff, and so she was just getting ready to leave her office, packing up at the end of a long night, when Sloan went rogue.

Mac's head shot up the instant Sloan's tone shifted, her jaw dropping a little more with every moment that passed. It was nothing short of a trainwreck, and by the end, Mac was watching the screen with her face buried in her hands.

After the broadcast, Sloan stumbled back into the newsroom like one shell-shocked, and Mac hung back as Charlie blasted her. When he was gone, Mac tried to catch Sloan's eyes to offer a sympathetic smile, to tell her that they had all been on the wrong side of Charlie Skinner's sharp tongue at one time or another, but Sloan simply swept past her, unseeing.

Mac hoped that it might just blow over, but by the next morning, the problem had snowballed far beyond the reputation of one defiant reporter. It was all anyone in the newsroom was talking about that day, falling conspicuously silent whenever Sloan herself walked through, with another box full of her belongings.

Will was feeling slightly more like himself after a better night's sleep, but the Sloan situation had done nothing to improve his mood. As he and Mac exited her office after greeting each other that morning, they found several of their staff clustered around Kendra's desk.

"…Daisuke Tanaka has offered to resign today," Sloan was translating. "He said, 'I apologize to my company, my government, and my country'." Sloan's shoulders sank, and her eyes fell shut in despair. "Please," she said, turning to Will, "I have to fix this now. Help me."

"Well, to start with—" began Mac, leaning over to see the screen more closely, but Sloan cut her off with a single raised eyebrow.

"Kenzie, I love you," said Sloan, rolling her eyes, "but a Japanese man's honour is at stake, and sometimes your wisdom leads to…" She trailed off, simulating an explosion with her hands.

Mac could almost feel herself shrinking, and she flushed, feeling the weight of all of their eyes on her. "No, I get it," she said quietly. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying not to show how much it stung.

"Will?" Sloan asked again.

Will frowned, looking back and forth between Sloan and Mac, but Mac was determinedly avoiding his gaze. "We'll figure something out," he grunted at last, before stalking back to his office, rubbing his forehead once more.

Mac and the others got down to business, piecing together that evening's episode of News Night, but Sloan's dilemma kept niggling at the back of her mind. Sloan's words still smarted, but there was something about her friend being punished for telling the truth that galled at Mac, and she just couldn't let it go. For the rest of the day, whenever she had a spare moment, Mac spent it searching for any possible way out of this mess. Charlie and Don and Will chimed in with their own ideas periodically, but it was Mac, by far, who put the most energy into it.

She took a break from her brainstorming only to sit with Will at lunchtime, indulging once more in the quiet and the darkness of his office. They had not seen each other outside of work for several days, and between his headache, which had returned with a vengeance, and Mac's waning stamina and battered self-esteem, this separation was beginning to take its toll on them both. Despite their exhaustion, they looked forward to a quiet dinner at Will's place after work that night.

Mac returned to her office to pack up while Will changed after the show, and she was soon absorbed, once again, in trying to solve Sloan's problem. Just before they went on the air, the news had broken that the radiation levels were now, indeed, at a seven, and this only fueled Mac's determination even further. When Charlie poked his head into her office to say goodnight, she was perusing a website on Japanese numbers and counting. It all seemed unnecessarily complicated to Mac, who had to read it three times before she thought she understood.

"Any luck?" asked Charlie.

"Nothing that will help Sloan," Mac replied, discouraged. "If this was anyone else, we could just play dumb and say she got the word wrong, but—"

"What are you talking about?" Charlie interrupted, entering the room properly and shutting the door behind him.

Mac explained what she had been reading. "But she's fluent," she concluded. "It's not like she can pretend she suddenly forgot how to count." Only then did Mac realize that Charlie was staring at her incredulously. "What?" she asked, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of her stomach.

As Mac watched in disbelief, Charlie whirled around, flinging her door open once more. "Sloan Sabbith, you get down here this instant!" he shouted.

Mac's jaw dropped. "Wait. Charlie, you aren't seriously suggesting—"

But Mac didn't get the chance to finish, because Will entered the room just then, eyeing her curiously. A sullen Sloan joined them moments later.

"I am here," Sloan announced, offering Charlie a bow of mock deference.

"What's the Japanese word for four?" Charlie asked, without preamble.

"Shi," said Sloan slowly, plainly wondering where Charlie was going with this.

"What's the Japanese word for seven?" he continued.

"Shichi."

"Those words are easy to mix up," Charlie stated firmly, and Sloan's eyes narrowed, comprehension dawning. With Sloan glaring murderously at him, Charlie went on to explain how this would salvage Tanaka's reputation. Again and again, Sloan interrupted, trying to reason with him, but Charlie would not be swayed.

Mac had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout this exchange, not taking her crestfallen eyes off of Charlie. In a way that she could not have explained, Mac felt wounded, as if Charlie's actions were a personal attack. She had spent all day searching for a solution, sure there was some way for Sloan to escape this situation with her dignity intact, and with one fell swoop, he was undermining everything she had tried to do.

Mac looked away from Charlie at last, and turned desperately to Will, wordlessly begging him to be the voice of reason. To her dismay, he seemed to see the plan's merits, because he merely shrugged, adding yet another blow to Mac's pride.

"We're all just going to lie, and I'm going to look stupid," Sloan complained.

"Charlie, you can't be serious!" Mac protested indignantly, when it was clear that nobody else was going to side with Sloan. "She's got to go on the air and say she thought it was a seven, when it was really a four, that then moved up to a five, and she's really sorry, but also now it's really a seven?"

Sloan cast Mac a withering sideways glance, once more leaving her feeling about two feet tall.

"It won't be our proudest moment," Charlie agreed, "but it'll help everyone concerned out of a very tricky situation."

"Will?" Sloan asked, drawing him into the conversation for the first time. "_You_ want me to do this?" She glanced back and forth between him and Charlie, having forgotten entirely that Mac was even there.

Will's scowl deepened further still. "Have you got a better solution?" he asked. "This fixes it. Let's just get this over with and move on."

Sloan nodded, resignedly, and Charlie swept her from the room, to get her ready to go on the air at 10:00.

"You ready to go?" Will asked Mac shortly. She nodded, and they left at once, neither having any desire to hang around and watch. They rode in silence on the way to Will's apartment, and made only small talk over the leftover takeout that Mac found in his fridge.

"What a long day," Mac groaned, slouching over the table, her head propped up on one fist. "I feel so awful for Sloan about all of this."

Will merely grunted, and Mac glanced up at him in surprise. "Doesn't it bother you, what we made her do tonight?"

"Sure," Will replied. "But Sloan's a big girl. She got herself into this mess, so she can deal with the consequences of what she did."

"Of course, but—"

"I'm more bothered by the fact that she treats you like you're some kind of intern," Will interrupted, leveling her with his gaze at last.

Mac swallowed hard and set down her fork. "Do we have to do this now?" she asked, sitting up straight. On top of everything else that had happened today, the thought of having an argument with Will tonight was just too exhausting for words.

"Yes, we do," Will said adamantly. "Mac, she insulted you in front of the entire staff this afternoon, and you just let her get away with it."

"It wasn't a big deal," Mac lied, hoping to put him off, but this only annoyed Will further.

"You are a Peabody-winning journalist!" Will argued, using his hands for emphasis. "Sloan is very smart, and she's good at what she does, but she isn't you, and you let her treat you like you're lucky she knows you even exist. If anything, it's the other way around. Where on earth is your confidence lately?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly been brimming with confidence for a few years now," she said. She strove to keep her voice light, pleading with Will to just take the hint and let this go.

But Will was not so easily deterred. "Mac, she calls you Kenzie!" he burst out, stopping just short of pounding the table with his fist.

"I know," Mac said quietly. She had been wondering for two days how long it would take for Will to bring this up; truthfully, she was surprised he had held off this long.

Her own family had only ever called her Mac, or Mackenzie, but countless friends and teachers and colleagues over the years persisted in calling her Kenzie, and every time it felt like a condescending pat on the head.

The first time it happened, she was seven, and Joanna Green's mother had asked what she wanted for her birthday. She had laughed when Mac proudly announced that she was asking for a tape recorder of her very own.

"Kenzie," she chuckled, playfully ruffling Mac's hair, "wouldn't you rather a new doll or a pretty new purse instead?"

Taken aback by the teasing, Mac had blushed crimson, and fallen silent at once.

Over the years, Mac would become much better at sticking to her guns and going after what she really wanted; she spent the entire summer of her first internship bravely correcting her senior producer on her name before he finally got the message. Still, that name, and all its implications, never failed to make Mac's insecurity rear its ugly head at the worst possible moments. She told Will once that the relentless use of this cutesy diminutive always took her right back to that moment in her childhood; it felt like a reminder that she was too young and too female to succeed in this industry.

Will was clearly recalling the same conversation, because he went on, "Just because Sloan knows things you don't about the economy, that's no reason to let her treat you like a little girl!"

On a day when Mac was already feeling raw and slighted, Will's disapproval simply chafed too much to take. "Do you think I don't know I let her get into my head?" Mac snapped, pushing herself up and away from the table. "It's the story of my life! Someone starts saying things, I start believing them, chaos ensues."

Will opened his mouth to respond, but now that Mac had started, she found that she couldn't stop rambling. "It's threatened every good thing I've ever had," she continued, counting her examples on her fingers as she listed them. "It's why I gave up on my singing lessons back in secondary school, it's why I almost got talked into quitting my junior year at Sarah Lawrence, and it's why I made the mother of all screw-ups by ch—"

Mac clapped both hands over her mouth before the rest of that sentence could escape, but the damage had already been done. She stared at Will, horrified, her chest heaving, her eyes impossibly wide. He stared back at her, frozen as still as a statue.

"By cheating on me," he said, when he found his voice at last.

"Will, I'm so sorry," Mac said miserably, sinking heavily back into her chair. "I had no idea I was going to say that."

"But you meant it," Will said softly.

Mac nodded, desperately tired once more. That lost, injured look on Will's face joined the growing collection of images that were permanently burnt onto her retinas.

"I don't – I don't understand," Will said, raking a hand through his hair as he got to his feet, reeling aimlessly around the room. "You said—"

"I know what I said," Mac whispered, so quietly that he had to stop moving to hear her properly. She cleared her throat, which had gone dry in anticipation of her next words. "The truth is – the truth is, when I told you last week that I didn't deserve how wonderful you're being, I wasn't just talking about now. I felt like this when we were together before too."

Mac wasn't remotely ready for this conversation, wasn't ready to see the look on Will's face when she mentioned Brian by name, but they had obviously reached a crossroads. If they didn't talk about it now, tonight, it was all just going to keep getting swept under the rug forever, and that simply couldn't go on any longer.

Will's eyes hardened, but he said nothing, merely crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Mac took a deep, shuddering breath before she could speak. "I told you last year that you were perfect, and I meant it. For two years, you did everything in your power to make me happy. You gave me everything I ever wanted, and I never felt like I did enough for you in return."

Will scowled at her, clearly not wanting a reprise of the argument he thought they had settled the week before, but Mac soldiered on. "We always ate at _my_ favourite restaurant, we went on vacation where _I_ wanted to go. You took me to every Broadway show ever written, because you knew how much _I_ love it. You gave me _everything_, Will. What did I ever do for you? And then people started saying that I wasn't good enough for you, that you were only with me because I must be good in b—"

"Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence!" Will spat, his whole body trembling with fury.

Mac sighed. "It doesn't matter," she said quietly, too weary even to appreciate his outrage at this slur against her honour. "I was already thinking it myself; it didn't take a lot of convincing for me to believe them."

She was almost finished. This was certainly the end of them, the end of these incredible couple of months that had been a gift beyond her wildest imaginings, but she couldn't stop now. Her words clawed inside her throat, but she forced them out. "And then, one night, Brian called. I was drunk, and you were out of town, and—"

Will held up a shaking hand to stem the flow of her words, his face screwed up in what looked like actual physical pain, and Mac broke off abruptly, absolutely spent. She watched him scrub his face and drag a hand through his hair once more, physically unable to remain still through this torment. He said nothing for several minutes, and after a while Mac could bear the suffocating silence no longer.

"I should go," Mac said, reaching for her purse. "I'm sorry, I'll—"

This jolted Will from his stupor. "No," he said. "No, I'm – I need to go for a walk. Please don't leave. I'll be back." Mac watched him almost run from the apartment, flinging himself into the elevator as soon as it arrived. The sound of the doors closing behind him echoed hollowly in his wake.

Mac remained seated for a few minutes, her limbs turned to stone and grown too heavy to move. It was always this way for her – while the battle raged on, she could always find the will to keep fighting, but the moment it was over, she would collapse, having absolutely nothing left. Will wasn't like this – no matter how hurt or tired or sad he was, she had never seen him lose the will to move, because he had to believe that he could outrun it.

Finally, with gargantuan effort, Mac heaved herself to her feet. Neither she nor Will had eaten more than a few bites of their dinner, but she threw it all away, and washed their dishes in the sink, her mind blank and her body numb. She scrubbed at the same plate for several minutes before noticing that the water pouring from the faucet was freezing cold.

Mac turned off the tap and wiped her hands on her jeans to dry them, her eyes drawn to the wine rack above the counter. She grabbed a bottle of red wine and carried it over to the couch, wishing she could just crawl inside it and hide. She held the bottle for a long time, staring at it, but in the end she never did more than pass the bottle back and forth from one frozen, trembling hand to the other. Eventually, she set it down on the coffee table, and got to her feet once more.

Mac wandered wraithlike around the apartment, unable to feel even the floor beneath her feet. After a cursory pass around the living room and down the hall, she found herself standing in the doorway to Will's bedroom, a room she had not entered once in the two months since they got back together.

Not even bothering to turn on the light, Mac sank onto what would have been her side of the bed, curling herself up into the tightest of fetal positions. Only then, with Will's scent all over the pillow, did she allow the tears to fall, crying so hard that she thought it would tear her in half.

At last, when she had no tears remaining, Mac simply lay there, too drained even to uncoil her limbs and cover herself with a blanket. She wondered, fleetingly, whether she had enough time. Perhaps if she could only breathe him in for long enough, when he came home and ended things for good, then she would have enough to tide herself over for the rest of her life. The last thing Mac wanted was to be there when he returned, but Will had asked her to stay, and she just couldn't find it within herself to refuse him anything anymore.

It might have been minutes or hours later when Will finally did come back. Mac flinched when the elevator announced his arrival, and then traced the creak of every footfall around the apartment, her heart racing. Through his eyes, she saw the table, cleared of their dinner; saw her purse hanging on the back of her chair; saw the unopened bottle of wine on the coffee table. She heard him check the living room and the study, before coming down the hall to the master bedroom, and finding the door open. He caught sight of her, just a shadow in the dark room, and she thought she heard him let out a sigh.

Will came to sit on the side of the bed, inches from Mac's feet. He laid a hand on her leg, rubbing it gently. "Mac, are you awake?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, her voice flat and hollow, though her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Will said. "I'm glad you stayed."

_I'm dying_, Mac thought, and suddenly it was impossible to prolong this moment any more than was absolutely necessary. "Are you breaking up with me?" she asked, holding her body rigid.

"What?" exclaimed Will. "_No_! Listen, will you sit up so we can talk about this?"

A flicker of hope flared up inside her, but Mac was too tired and too sad to trust it, and it was extinguished almost at once. As Will leaned over her to turn on the lamp, Mac slowly pulled herself up, her aching muscles protesting at the change of position after so long. She sat cross-legged near the edge of the bed, and Will winced, his heart breaking a little when he caught sight of her red and puffy eyes.

Mac reached behind her for the pillow, hugging it tightly to her chest. Her hair had nearly all come loose from its ponytail, and it fell forward, shielding much of her face from view. She buried her nose in the pillow, unable to look up and meet Will's gaze.

"You wanted to know what you ever did for me?" Will asked, laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on her knee.

Of all that had been said between them tonight, this was where he wanted to start? Mac peered up at him in surprise. "Yeah?" she said warily.

"I wasn't an optimist before I met you."

Mac snorted bleakly, looking away again. "You're still not an optimist," she said, her voice hoarse.

"No," Will agreed. "But you are. And your optimism is the thing I've always loved best about you." Will reached up and tucked Mac's hair behind her ears. She shivered, and his hand returned to her knee, the warmth of his touch finally beginning to seep through the fabric and into her skin.

"It's – I don't know, it's contagious or addictive or something," Will went on. "Having you in my life before made me _want_ to be happy, made me want to believe it was actually possible. _You_ believed in me, and that made me want to be the better journalist, the better _person_ that you thought I could be. I felt like I could do anything."

Mac bit her lip, her mind fuzzily trying to work through this utterly unexpected logic. But Will wasn't finished.

"And then last year, you came back. You came barging into my office, pitching our show, telling me we could take on the world, and despite my best efforts, there was that feeling again. The last thing in the world that I wanted to do was listen to a word you had to say, but your faith, your conviction in the whole thing, and in me, that's what made me want to give you and our show a fair chance this time around. Even when I was still so hurt and so angry that I couldn't see straight, even then, I still couldn't bear to let you down."

Mac's mind spun, trying to process all of this. Could it really be that simple?

Seeing her worry her bottom lip between her teeth, Will knew that she wasn't entirely persuaded. "Mac, _please_," he begged, "I need you to understand this. I'm not an optimist. I'm never going to be. This feeling of wanting to be happy, wanting to be better, this is the closest I'm ever going to get, and I never had that before I met you. I still don't know how to do it without you."

Will unclenched Mac's fingers from around his pillow, moving it aside, and taking her hands in his, warming them with his touch. "I never cared what we ate or where we went," he said. "I just wanted to be with you. I just _want_ you."

Mac's eyes filled with fresh tears at these words. Will turned slightly, and she allowed him to pull her into the warmth of his embrace, her breath hitching in her throat as his arms came around her. The pillow may have smelled like him, but it paled in comparison to having his steady heartbeat against her ear, and his fingers tangled in her hair.

"Would you stay here tonight?" Will asked after a while, his voice muffled into her hair.

Mac's heart gave an almighty lurch. "Will, I don't think—"

"I know we're not _there_ yet," he interrupted. "I know we still have a lot to work through, I know you still blame yourself. I know all that. Tonight, I just want to hold you."

Mac fell asleep that night exactly as she had on the night of the snowstorm, Will's arms around her and her head tucked under his chin, but her heart felt lighter than it had in years. She knew, better than anyone, how much Will hated talking about his feelings. That he had gone to such lengths to articulate how he saw her role in their relationship was more valuable than any gift he had ever given her. For tonight, at least, her love and gratitude were able to outweigh the guilt.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

Once again, thank you so much for reading! I struggled a lot with this chapter, but I think I'm finally happy(ish) with it. As always, I really appreciate any comments or constructive criticism!


	5. Chapter 5

When Mac woke the next morning, the sun was shining warmly on her face, and Will's chest was rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm beneath her head. For the first time in years, Mac smiled before she even opened her eyes.

Lifting herself off of him with a litheness that few who knew her would have believed possible, Mac eased herself onto her side. Propping herself up on one elbow, Mac gazed down affectionately at Will, taking advantage of this rare opportunity to just watch him sleep.

Even when they were together before, Will had nearly always woken before Mac, spoiling her with breakfasts in bed, drawing her back to consciousness with long, slow kisses, or just stroking her hair until she woke, purring like a kitten. The few times that Mac managed to wake first, she found it almost physically impossible to take her eyes off of him, and so it was this morning.

When he was asleep, Will looked more like the little boy Mac wished she had known, the one who had been forced to grow up much too quickly, becoming the man his father should have been. Asleep, Will was softer, somehow, tousle-haired and vulnerable, and whenever she had the pleasure of catching him like this, all Mac wanted was to take him in her arms and defend him from the world, doing battle with anything and anyone who had ever hurt him.

Much too soon for Mac's liking, she saw that Will was beginning to stir. The regular rhythm of his breath suddenly shifted, and his hands snatched greedily at the air above his chest. A small frown settled on his face when they closed around nothing but thin air. When he finally cracked open one eye and saw Mac beaming down at him, however, Will's face broke into a lazy, contented smile.

Mac leaned over him, resting her forehead against his, her heart so full of love that it ached. "Good morning," she murmured, kissing Will on the cheek, before shifting a little down the bed, her face nestled in his neck. She pressed another kiss to Will's carotid, his pulse quivering against her lips.

"You're happy this morning," Will observed, his voice still gruff with sleep. He wrapped his arms back around her and stroked a gentle finger up and down her arm.

Mac hummed in agreement, hooking one leg loosely over Will's and trailing her heel slowly up his calf. "It's a good day," she said simply, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling more deeply against him. Everything was warm and comfortable and good, and she never, ever wanted to leave this bed.

"Want to play hooky with me?" Mac joked playfully.

"I wish I could," said Will. "But the mean lady at work would yell at me." He yelped when she pinched him, chuckling and twisting away from her.

"Time to get going, McAvoy," she smirked, sitting up. "The mean lady has work to do before the pitch meeting."

It _was_ a good day, and the rest of April was littered with a great deal more good days just like it. That Saturday, they had dinner at Mac's place, and afterwards, they curled up together in her favourite armchair to watch a movie, her head resting on his shoulder.

After a while, Mac yawned. "I'm much too comfortable to let you move," she murmured sleepily, feigning nonchalance as her eyes fell shut. "You should probably just stay here tonight."

"You know you don't need to make up excuses to get me to stay," Will said, nudging her. She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and it made her blush a little, being caught out so easily.

"I know," Mac replied, pulling his arms more snugly around her. It felt good, this teasing; it went some way to counter the little flash of nervousness she still felt every time she forced herself to make the first move.

Soon, Mac began to leave a t-shirt and a change of clothes at Will's place as well. They didn't spend every night together, or even most of them, but they both felt a little more at ease, knowing they had the option of not saying goodbye at the end of a long or difficult day.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, however. Every once in a while, Mac's good mood would falter, and the returning rush of guilt was all the more painful, now that she was allowing herself, slowly, to become accustomed to its absence.

She was standing on his balcony one night, gazing out at the New York skyline while Will went to get them drinks. Mac was daydreaming, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't hear the door sliding open, so when his arms came around her waist from behind, his fingers dipping under her shirt, Mac shrieked a little and shoved him away.

Almost at once, Mac's brain caught up to her body, and she reached for Will, pulling him back towards her, her hands bunching in the fabric of his shirt. "Sorry – sorry, you just startled me," she hurried, tripping over her words, her heart still racing uneasily.

Will covered her hands with his, excusing her without a second thought, but that didn't stop the lump of guilt from rising in the back of Mac's throat, growing larger and larger over the course of the evening. The two of them still had a good time over dinner, but this was not a night that Mac would spend in his bed, and she couldn't stop her mind from replaying the moment over and over for hours before she finally fell into a restless sleep.

But mostly, things were easy and free and good, and Mac was able to push her guilt back into the shadows where it belonged. She wanted to stop the clocks, wishing that things could stay exactly as they were for the rest of time.

The end of the month marked the first anniversary of News Night 2.0, and Mac had been badgering Will for weeks, telling him that they should really do something, the whole team, to celebrate. Will was reluctant – he got along fine with the staff now, liked most of them, even, but he was selfish when it came to his time alone with Mac, resenting anything that infringed upon it. At last, Mac wore him down and he relented, agreeing to host a party for the entire team at his apartment. He did so mostly because of the grin it put on Mac's face when he said yes, and because of the inexplicable delight she took in planning the whole thing. He watched with amusement as she spent the remainder of the week making arrangements for the food, the drinks, the decorations.

On the afternoon of the party, Mac came over early to help him set up. Will soon discovered that he was mostly expected to stay out of her way, which he was only too glad to do. The only task he was assigned was to call Jim and ask him to bring over his guitar, and this Will did as he watched Mac hang up more balloons than he had ever seen in one place before. Just as she was finishing up, the first of the guests began to arrive.

Will made a brief speech, congratulating them all on a very successful year, and then everyone splintered off into smaller groups, drinking and chatting and playing silly party games. Mac darted around the room, making sure everyone was having a good time, but the minute the guitars came out, she made a beeline for the spot on the couch beside Jim.

Mac curled her legs up beneath her, unable to stop an enormous grin from spreading from ear to ear. Usually self-conscious when it came to these things, she knew her face must be an open book to anyone who saw it right now, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had been dreaming of this moment for _months_. Other than her parents, she loved these two men more than anyone else in the world, and she had been dying for the chance to see them bond over their shared love of music.

Neither of her boys were much for parties, and left to their own devices, they would have abandoned this one in a heartbeat, had she not orchestrated the one thing neither of them could refuse – the jam session to end all jam sessions. Exceptionally proud of herself for bringing it all about, Mac's heart was full to the point of overflowing, and she could have watched them all night, listening as they glided seamlessly from Jonathan Edwards and Gordon Lightfoot into Fleetwood Mac and Simon & Garfunkel, the crowd around them swelling ever larger.

There was one excruciating moment, when Jim attempted to impress Will with a cover of Leonard Cohen's _Everybody Knows_. His motives were entirely innocent, but Mac ran through the lyrics in her head, and she felt them hit her like a kick to the chest. For a moment, she couldn't draw enough air into her lungs.

Will was evidently on this same wavelength, because Jim had barely begun before Will was sending him sharp looks of warning, but Jim's eyes were closed and he missed them all. Only when he was about to start the second verse did Jim lock eyes with Will at last, realizing too late what was coming next.

As usual, Will was able to save the day, segueing effortlessly into a Beatles song that soon had the whole group singing along. "Thank you," Mac mouthed with trembling lips, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Will nodded, offering her a reassuring smile, but it was still some time before Mac could breathe normally again, the searing pain in her chest gradually fading. _Would this feeling ever go away_?

As the group around them dispersed around the apartment once more, Will made Jim give up his spot on the couch, blaming it on his knee, an old high school injury. Will settled in beside Mac, closer than Jim had been sitting, and began to play the first slow chords of _And So It Goes_, one of her very favourite songs of all time. Their thighs were touching, the warmth of his leg a comforting anchor for her as she listened to this song for the first time since she had broken his heart. She nudged his knee with hers, letting him know that _she_ knew that he was doing this, not to hurt her, but because he wanted to give the song back to her.

Still, it was a really good thing that Will had decided to give his voice a break and stopped singing, relying only on his talented fingers, because if he had sung _those_ lyrics to her, with their painful new meaning, in front of all of these people, she really would have lost it. As it was, Mac was quite proud of herself for holding it together right until the very end, when the tears won out and spilled over onto her cheeks. Only Jim and Will were around to see them by this point, and she was saved from even this awkward conversation by the buzzing of her Blackberry. She swiped her wet cheeks impatiently as she checked her messages.

"Listen to this," she said, sniffing and steadying herself. "It's from Mike Tapley. _I'm available. Call me_. What do you suppose—"

But before either of them could answer, first Will's and then Jim's phones beeped too.

"I've got the same thing," Jim said.

Will nodded. "Me too."

Something was happening. Something big. None of them even needed to say it, nor did they need to discuss their next moves; they all simply sprang into action. As one, Will and Jim began to pack up their guitars, while Mac cast about for Charlie, who had been conspicuously scarce for much of the evening. She caught sight of him at last, stepping back inside from the balcony, glancing up at the clock. She made her way over to him.

"Any idea what this is about?" she asked him, showing him the message. She had no sooner finished asking the question when her phone beeped again, as did his.

"POTUS to address the country at 10:30 EST on matter of national security," he read. "What does yours say?"

"Get to work. It's from the White House." Without waiting for another word from Charlie, Mac turned to address the group. "Heads up, everybody," she said, shouting a little to make herself heard over the din. "We're going to work. The President is speaking in ninety minutes on a matter of national security. I want four people to a cab, let's go."

The next few minutes were an exercise of what a well-oiled machine the News Night team could be under Will and Mac's direction. Will phoned down to alert the doorman, Mac called ahead for Will's car, and within ten minutes, Will's apartment was cleared of all of its guests, each of them scrolling furiously through their list of contacts as they piled into the elevator. Will, Mac, Jim and Charlie were the last ones out, and they found the car waiting for them when they got downstairs.

"What do you think it is?" Jim asked, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Bin Laden," Will, Mac and Charlie all said at once.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Mac elaborated. "If we were under attack, he couldn't have waited even thirty minutes to make the announcement, and just about anything else could have waited until the morning. It's got to be bin Laden."

The four of them spent the rest of the short ride to the studio phoning every White House, military and NATO contact they had ever had. Though they continued to brainstorm for other ideas between calls, the fact that _none_ of their sources knew anything more than they did only strengthened their convictions: it had to be that the man behind the September eleventh terrorist attacks had been killed at last.

Jumping out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop, Jim, Charlie and Will made their way straight for the conference room, where the rest of the team had already congregated. Mac, meanwhile, looked in on the studio and the control room.

"Let them know New York is running this," she warned Herb. She didn't trust their Washington anchor, Jane, as far as she could throw her.

"Quiet. Quiet!" Mac said, when she sailed into the chaos of the conference room a couple minutes later. "Let's get organized. There's no point in beating around the bush, we all think it's bin Laden, and we're ready if it is. But I'm not doing nothing, we're going to be prepared for anything. Will's already ruled out Gaddhafi. Besides Iran or North Korea, what else _could_ it be?"

Will held up his phone. "Elliot's just heard that he's speaking from the East Room, so—"

"So it's definitely not bad news," Mac finished, nodding.

All of their other ideas effectively off the table, Mac gave the order to launch the drill they had been practicing for a year now. After updating bin Laden's obit package and all of their graphics, however, there was little they could do but wait, and keep calling their sources, keeping a vigilant eye on their phones and computers for any sign of an official confirmation. Will changed into his suit, going on the air just long enough to assure the viewers that it was not Libya or any kind of domestic attack, before throwing it back to Washington.

Mac spent the next hour fielding a myriad of calls, emails and tweets, her frustration mounting, because not one of them satisfied her enough to give Will the go-ahead. As if she didn't have enough to worry about tonight, every time she stepped into the control room, Mac was inundated by interruptions from Jane, demanding to be allowed to report every tweet they were receiving, but Mac held firm.

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to keep vamping," she repeated, her voice unyielding. "This is double confirmation territory, and we don't even have one yet. We'll send you a package on past live addresses from the East Room, you can run that."

Jane protested vociferously, but her grumbling went unheard, as Mac swept from the control room without a backwards glance. She found Charlie and Will where she had left them, deep in conversation in the conference room.

"We're agreed we're still not going yet?" Will asked, as she shut the door behind her.

Mac nodded. "I trust my sources, and I'm absolutely sure what they're saying is true, but I don't know where they're getting _their_ information."

Charlie nodded. "Agreed," he said. "We're going to get this one right. We'll go when the White House tells us it's reportable."

"Charlie, I do think you should tell them," Mac said, gesturing over her shoulder into the newsroom, the staff hard at work, all dressed up in their party clothes.

Charlie nodded. "That, I'd love to do," he said. They exited the conference room together, and Will got everyone's attention.

"We got him," Charlie said simply, and then held up a hand, waiting for the cheers and applause to die down before speaking again. "It's going to be a long night. Work fast, and work well, but every once in a while, I want you to take three seconds to notice where you are, and what you're doing. You're going to remember this night for the rest of your lives."

Mac nodded, a lump rising slowly in the back of her throat. For the first time that night, she turned off the focused journalist part of her brain, the part that was concerned with sources and graphics and sound levels, and just let herself absorb the enormity of this moment.

Will was standing only inches away from Mac, and she badly wanted to slip her arm through his, but she restrained herself, mindful of all the people surrounding them. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and moved over so that their arms were just touching, letting that be enough for now.

"Mac?" Jim called, interrupting her train of thought.

"Yeah?" she said, shaking her head to clear her thoughts.

"You'd better get back in there. Herb says Jane's giving them trouble again."

Mac cursed under her breath and dashed back to the control room. This time, Will followed hot on her heels.

"We're going!" insisted Jane, the instant Mac picked up the phone.

Will looked very much like he wanted to grab the phone from her and jump into the fray, but he didn't get the chance. "You. Are. Not," Mac almost growled, her patience with this woman having just about reached the end of its tether.

"I don't believe you people. You just want Washington to keep the audience warm for Will."

Unfortunately, these were _exactly_ the wrong words for her to say. "We're waiting for the White House to tell us it's reportable," Mac said, a biting edge to her voice now. Jane didn't know it yet, but Mac was actually at her most dangerous when she wasn't screaming and flailing her arms. She was about to find out.

"We're not," Jane said flippantly, and she reached for her phone.

"Cut the feed from Washington," Mac commanded, without even turning her head, and the screen instantly went dark.

She glanced over at Will, who had been watching her all this time, pride and desire warring heatedly in his gleaming eyes. "Think she got the message yet?" Mac asked him, grinning a little.

"Give it a couple more seconds," Will suggested, and Mac agreed, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

When Jane's face finally reappeared on the screen, she was scowling, but Mac was in no mood for any more of her nonsense. "Move one inch in that direction again and you're blacked out for the night," she warned threateningly. "The decision to go will be made by the president of the news division, Charlie Skinner, and the announcement will be made by the face and voice of Atlantis Cable News, Will McAvoy," she barked, breathing hard as she slammed down the phone. "Keep an eye on her," she added sharply, flinging the door open and stepping back into the newsroom.

Mac had planned to return to the conference room to speak to Charlie once more, but before she knew what was happening, Will was steering her into his office.

"Will, what are you doing?" she protested. "We've got work to do."

"I'm just following Charlie's advice, we can take a minute," he said. Once the door was closed behind them, he grasped her by the shoulders, gazing deep into her eyes. "We got him, Mac. Can you believe it?"

Mac shook her head, her anger with Jane vanishing in an instant, and the lump in her throat returning with a vengeance. They leaned against the edge of his desk, standing side-by-side for a moment, and Mac laced her arm through Will's, as she had so badly wanted to do earlier, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Are you thinking about where you were on 9/11?" Will asked quietly. "That's all I've been thinking about all night, being here that morning, the chaos of the newsroom a thousand times more chaotic than normal, because nobody had a clue what was going on, whether there was one hijacked plane out there, or four, or twenty. Having no idea how to put the tragedy into words for the viewers, when you couldn't even begin to comprehend it yourself."

Mac let Will's words trail off, weighing heavily in the air for a moment, before she shook her head. "I did think about that, of course," she said, her voice low. "But mostly I've been thinking about the guys we were embedded with, how they're going to feel when they hear the news."

Now that she was home, Mac didn't talk about her time overseas much, and it wasn't easy for her to bring it up now. She was immensely proud of the work that she and her team had done there, and they had met some truly incredible people, but she had also watched far too many of them lose their lives, victims of roadside bombs or attacks when they were out on patrol.

"How are they going to feel?" Will asked carefully, wrapping one arm around her and kissing her hair.

Mac shuddered a little, but Will squeezed her shoulder, letting her know without words that it was safe to feel everything she was feeling, and to open up to him if she wanted to. She reflected. "Proud, I think," she said, choking a little, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Like there's a bit more justice in the world tonight. But also regret, because we had to lose so many good people in the process, and even though this is a victory, it's not going to bring them back. Relief, because it means they didn't die in vain."

They fell silent after this, taking a moment to absorb it all. They nearly jumped out of their skins when Will's phone buzzed once more. They read the newest message together, their eyes locking for an instant, before running out the door.

"We're going!" shouted Mac, dashing back to the control room, setting off a new flurry of activity in her wake. Will slowed just long enough to show Charlie the message, but they both knew it was merely a formality, given the source.

**OBL reportable. Knock 'em dead, just like we did – Joe Biden**

Mac pulled herself together, making sure that the graphics and sound levels were all as they should be, but in the moment before Washington threw the coverage over to Will, she stepped back, taking a moment to notice the people around her. She watched as Jake pulled on an FDNY baseball cap and rose to his feet. One by one, every other member of the News Night team did the same.

"Do it for me, Will," she said, throatily.

She didn't need to give him or anyone else even one instruction after that. Will gave an introduction to the president's announcement that was heartfelt, almost poetic, and by the time they went live to the White House, the entire team had tears in their eyes.

As the President began to speak, Mac found Jim at the back of the control room. She slid an arm around him, the one other person who could begin to understand the confusion of emotions that she was feeling tonight.

Tired and proud and emotionally spent, Will and Mac met back up in his office after he signed off for the night, and he swept her into a tight hug, neither of them wanting to let go.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Will said, murmuring fervently into her hair.

Mac's heart skipped a beat. She pulled back from him, and Will began to curse himself for spoiling the moment, but he stopped himself when he saw her expression.

Mac looked up at him, biting her lower lip, a shy smile lighting up her face. _It had been a _good_ day_, she decided, _good enough that she could risk it, could take this chance_. She nodded. She had just enough time to catch a glimpse of unbridled joy in his eyes before Will's hand had reached down to cup her cheek, pulling her lips up to meet his.

Mac had never forgotten what it was like to be kissed by Will, but there was nothing in the world that could have prepared her for the actual feeling of it happening again. His mouth was like a liquid flame, devouring hers, and the resulting flare that shot through her entire body felt like it had short-circuited her brain. It had been _years_ – how had she survived so long without this?

Mac allowed the blaze to consume her for several minutes, pulling away just before the wildfire could surge entirely out of control. She buried her face in Will's shoulder, gasping desperately for air, their arms tightening around each other once more.

"Move in with me," Will urged, when he could speak, his heart racing in tandem with her own.

Mac was still breathing too heavily to respond, but Will could not mistake the way that her entire body froze in his arms, and he sighed heavily. "Come on, Mac," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "We're fine. What more needs to happen before you believe that we're going to be okay?"

"It's not – I just – Not yet, okay? That's exactly how far we made it last time and I'm sorry, believe me, I know you've been ridiculously patient with me, but I just—"

Will brought one finger up to cover her swollen lips, halting her rambling in an instant. "Not _yet_?" Will repeated, stressing her second word meaningfully.

Mac nodded, a tidal wave of relief washing over her as Will pulled her back into his arms. He understood her, even when her tongue was racing a mile a minute and her words didn't make sense to anyone else but him. More than that, he could see how hard she was trying, so she felt only the tiniest trace of guilt that she couldn't simply accept his offer without hesitation.

"But you're coming home with me tonight," Will said abruptly. "I'm not arguing with you on this."

Mac squeezed him tighter, smiling into his chest. "No argument here," she promised. "Come on, let's go."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Once again, thank you all so much for reading. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of your reviews! I always loved receiving feedback and constructive criticism. I'd especially like to hear from you about this chapter, since it's quite different from the others. I've obviously kept significant passages from 5/1, but I've reworked it a lot as well, and played with the timeline a bit … I guess I see this as one way the night could have unfolded if Will hadn't been high. I hope you like it!

This was only supposed to be the first part of chapter five, but it ended up taking a lot longer to tell than I expected, and the rest of the chapter I had planned no longer makes sense here. But I'm still not sure about this ending…


	6. Chapter 6

In the days and weeks that followed, News Night enjoyed a significant boost in the ratings. Their audience had been holding steady or growing for months now, forcing the Lansings to give Will and Mac a little more leeway with the stories they chose to chase down, but this new development was unprecedented. When Will had taken to the airwaves to break the news of Bin Laden's death, he was the first to provide the American people with an official confirmation. New viewers had flocked to ACN in record numbers that night, and so far, they hadn't left.

With this resurgence in popularity, Will, Mac and Charlie all felt increasingly confident that the Republican party would choose Will and their network to host one of its presidential candidate debates. They would all have dearly loved to revamp the entire process, forcing the candidates to answer all their most pointed questions without any waffling or blatant falsehoods. They knew, however, that such a dramatic change would never be accepted, and so, when they weren't working on putting together that evening's show, the three of them were closeted away in one of their offices, brainstorming ways that they could still make this debate their own, still do the news their way.

For Will and Mac, these discussions were not confined to the newsroom, but followed them home each night, continuing via an endless series of texts and phone calls, over dinner, and as they settled into bed. This was their big chance, and they were determined to get it perfect, but for the better part of May, they couldn't make up their minds just what perfect looked like.

They were still deep in conversation about it one morning when Will's car dropped them off at the studio. They were earlier than usual, so they decided to cross the street and share a drink before getting down to work. They had just settled into an empty booth, and Will had finished stirring cream and sugar into his coffee, when both of their cell phones buzzed at the same time.

**Ratko Mladic arrested in Serbia**

Mac's eyes flew up to meet Will's over their phones, their mouths dropping open in twin expressions of astonishment.

Will recovered first. "Never a dull moment, huh?" he said, standing and putting the lid back on his drink.

"Nope," Mac agreed, rolling her eyes a little as she, too, rose to her feet. Yes, they were journalists – she had never wanted to do anything other than the exact job she was doing right now, but could they not even enjoy one lazy morning together without breaking news calling them in to work?

Mac was right behind Will as they exited the coffee shop, but she hesitated for just a moment, fishing the teabag out of her cup and tossing it into a garbage can just outside the door. When she glanced up again, Will was just stepping down off the curb, and that was when time suddenly slowed to a crawl.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mac saw a car streaking through the red light and into the intersection, weaving dangerously, and hurtling straight for Will, who had his eyes focused on the road in front of him. She didn't even have time to scream his name.

With a superhuman speed she had not known she possessed, Mac sprinted towards Will, shoving him further into the road as the car veered back towards the sidewalk. She had just enough time to see Will stumble free of the car's path, before her entire left side exploded with pain, and the world went dark.

It was all the noise that finally woke her, and the sensation of too many people crowding in around her. Before her eyes were properly open, she lashed out with her arms and legs, trying to push them all away, but the resulting wall of pain knocked the breath right out of her.

Mac's eyes snapped open, and against the blinding lights, she saw a handful of men and women in scrubs and white coats pressing in on her, all of them talking at once. Though the pain was excruciating, she couldn't help her whole body from surging once more, gasping and straining to fill her lungs as she tried to twist away from them. Finally, one terse voice cut through the others.

"Mac, stop moving!"

She went limp in an instant, implicitly trusting the words before she was even conscious of the fact that it was Will's voice she had heard, or that both of his hands were wrapped around one of her own. A moment later, when her foggy brain managed to process this fact, she latched onto it with iron-fast certainty, feeling instantly calmer. Whatever else was happening, he was here, and she was safe.

"Hurts," she said, still gulping for air, her eyes rolling back in her head. She squeezed his hands as she turned her head to look up at him, his grip and his gaze providing a rock for her, something to steady herself amidst the storm of activity going on around her.

"I bet it does," said one of the doctors, stepping back from her, and giving her space to breathe at last. "Your left shoulder is dislocated. You'll feel better once we pop it back into place."

Will's eyes had been wild and terrified when they first locked with hers, but now that she was awake, she watched them grow darker and deceptively calm. He still held her hand in both of his, and showed not the slightest sign of letting go, so it wouldn't have been obvious to anyone else, but Mac could tell at once that he was very, very angry. In a strange way, she was glad of it, because it gave her something to focus on besides the pain.

He and the doctor helped Mac to sit up on the gurney, but even this slight movement made her whimper with pain. "You can't be here for this," she gasped, her nails digging into Will's hand.

Will glared at her without speaking, his teeth clenched and his breathing shallow.

"_Please_," Mac implored, trying to hold herself as still as possible. "I don't want you to see this. It's not going to be pretty. Call Charlie and let him know we're okay."

A short, silent battle of wills later, and Will dropped her hand from his grasp, striding towards the exit. When he was gone, Mac nodded to the doctor still supporting her other side.

"I'm ready," she said resolutely, but nothing could have prepared her for the moment of agony that followed, and her screaming cry sounded more wild, injured animal than human.

Gasping again until the worst of the pain waned, Mac sank back against the gurney, silently allowing the doctors to clean and bandage the scrape on her forehead, to shine bright lights into her eyes, and to manipulate her injured shoulder into a sling, her left arm pulled tightly against her body.

Only when one of the doctors came back towards her, carrying a small vial of pills, did Mac speak again.

"No drugs," she said, shrinking as far into the pillows as she could.

"Mac, don't be ridiculous," Will said tightly, re-entering the room just in time to hear her.

"No drugs," she repeated desperately, almost growling this time. Will glared at her once more, but sank into the chair beside her bed without another word.

"By all accounts, you've been very lucky, Ms. McHale," said the doctor who had reset her shoulder. "A car like that, going that speed, should have done a lot more damage. You'll need to take it easy with that shoulder for a while, but otherwise you've come out of this with barely a scratch."

"What about her head?" interrupted Will, speaking as if Mac wasn't even in the room. "She was out for a long time."

"She was," the doctor agreed, "but I see no signs of a concussion. I'll release you if you've got someone at home who can keep an eye on you for the next little while."

"She's staying with me," Will said, glaring pointedly at Mac as if daring her to challenge him. One look at his face, however, told her that this was an argument she was never going to win.

Will pretty well ignored her after that. He came and went from the room several more times, receiving last-minute instructions from the doctors and signing the necessary paperwork to have her discharged from their care. He didn't say a word to Mac as he wheeled her out to the waiting car. He turned a deaf ear to her protests when they pulled up outside the nearby pharmacy, jumping out of the idling car and filling the prescription himself. He simply stared out the window, glowering, all the way to his apartment. The mounting tension between them was beyond palpable, and for Mac, it was even harder to take than the ache in her shoulder.

When Will finally had her settled on his couch, Mac was unsurprised to see that he would not sit down himself, merely pacing back and forth before the window, his body trembling with tension.

"Looks like you got your way about me moving in," Mac joked lamely, breaking the silence in the only way that she knew would end this stalemate. "You're stuck with me for a few days, anyway."

Will whirled around to face her, shooting her his most murderous and resentful glare yet.

Mac sighed. "I'm sorry, I know that wasn't funny," she said, getting slowly to her feet and padding her way over to him. She lay her good hand on his arm, and forced him to look into her eyes. "Will, you look like you're about to explode. Whatever you've got to say, could you just say it so we can get this over with?"

Will needed no further prompting. "What were you _thinking_?" he exploded, gesticulating wildly. She knew that if her shoulder was not immobilized and therefore strictly off-limits, he would have been trying to physically shake some sense into her. "You jumped in front of a car! Are you crazy? You could have been killed!"

Mac didn't even flinch in the face of this tirade – she could handle any amount of screaming from him, and she could give as good as she got. It was only when he went silent that she floundered, because it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "I was trying to save you!" she exclaimed, digging her index finger into his chest for emphasis. "And it's obvious that I wasn't thinking at all – I saw the car coming for you and I just reacted, it was instinct! You can't actually expect me to apologize for wanting to keep you safe."

Mac could see before Will did that he was about to collapse. Ever since the accident, his fear and later his anger had been the only thing sustaining him, and now, with his outburst behind him, he had absolutely nothing left. With Mac's hand on his arm to guide him, Will sank heavily onto the couch, his entire body shaking alarmingly as he buried his face in his hands. Ignoring the growing pain in her shoulder, which throbbed even more every time she moved, Mac sat down beside him, twisting herself so that she was pressed as tightly against his side as she could get and wrapping her good arm around his back.

"I'm not sorry for what I did," Mac repeated, murmuring into his hair. "But I am really, _really_ sorry for scaring you." She held him tightly until the shaking had subsided, and he was breathing normally again.

"Elliot and Don covering for us tonight?" she asked quietly, trailing a soothing hand through Will's hair.

"And the rest of the week," Will nodded, leaning his head against hers. "There's no way you're going back to work tomorrow, and I'm not going anywhere without you."

It was Thursday, and with nowhere they needed to be until Monday, Will and Mac settled in for a quiet long weekend together. Will popped a movie into the DVD player, returning quickly to Mac's side. He was calmer now, but being any further than arm's length away from her still made him feel on edge.

Mac appreciated the proximity as well, but it made it so much harder to conceal the fact that the pain in her shoulder was growing exponentially. She fidgeted uncomfortably, holding her breath so she wouldn't cry out whenever she landed in a position that aggravated her injury further.

If Mac hadn't been focusing so much of her energy on trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, she would have noticed that she had never had Will fooled, not even for a moment. When a particularly painful maneuver made Mac let out an involuntary gasp, Will had had enough.

"Would you just take your pain meds already?" he said.

Mac shook her head vehemently. "Don't like how they make me feel," she said, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Mac had been fortunate over the years to have had very few occasions to need strong pain medication, but those few times when it had been necessary, the result had always been the same – disastrous. No matter her mood before taking the drugs, the remainder of her pain-free day would be spent so maudlin and weepy that she always felt even more miserable than before she took the pills.

Her most recent experience with pain medication, in the aftermath of her stabbing in Pakistan, had been a particularly bad one, because her mood had been hopeless to start with. The couple of years since the end of her relationship with Will had done nothing to lessen the devastation she still felt, and that, coupled with pain medication and the worst injury of her life, was the recipe for disaster. The entire brutal experience was all Mac could think about now, and it was making her more anxious by the minute, because she knew that she couldn't hold out forever.

As the morning wore on, the pain worsened considerably. When it had gotten so bad that she was practically writhing on the couch beside Will, her skin clammy and her breathing laboured, Will would no longer accept no for an answer. He rose silently and filled a glass of water for her himself, pressing it firmly into her hand along with two of the pills. Mac swallowed them without hesitation, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

In less than half an hour, the pain had faded to almost nothing if she remained at rest, but Mac had to keep her good hand pressed against her mouth to hold back the tears, which felt like they were permanently threatening to overflow. She tried desperately to keep her attention on the movie they were watching, but her mind kept taking her back to the hospital bed in Pakistan, where she had drifted in and out of a drugged and feverish sleep, Will's worried and angry and hurt face painted on the inside of her eyelids, tormenting Mac every time she so much as blinked.

In the years since, Mac had accumulated more of these images of Will, the same ones which had given her such nightmares just a few short months ago, and now she had some new ones to add to the collection. The memory of the wild terror that had filled Will's eyes in the hospital was the freshest, and it left her struggling not to retch all over his couch. Will was the best man she had ever known – so why, why could she not stop hurting him, stop scaring him out of his wits?

Mac reached again for her glass of water, but the medications, taken on an empty stomach, had made her a little light-headed, and the glass toppled over, spilling onto the floor.

"Sorry," she gulped, sniffling and watching helplessly as Will grabbed a cloth to mop up the mess.

"Don't worry about it, it was an accident," Will replied, turning his attention back to the movie.

But for the rest of the afternoon, Mac could do little else but worry. Her eyes perpetually filled with tears, she kept tripping over herself, apologizing to him for everything under the sun, from being the reason he was missing such an important show tonight to burning the grilled cheese sandwiches he had asked her to flip while he heated up some soup.

Will did his best to reassure her, and he tolerated her never-ending deluge of emotions as long as he could, but even his patience had its limits. Early in the afternoon, he saw that she was struggling to keep her eyes open against the pull of the opiates in the drugs, and he suggested that she go lie down and try to get some rest. To his relief, Mac agreed at once, but when he offered to help her to change into something a little more comfortable, she visibly shied away from him, her stricken face losing what little remained of its colour. He was forced to listen from the other side of the wall as she spent many long and painful minutes struggling out of and into her clothing and her sling, every gasp and involuntary cry of pain making Will want to tear his hair out.

Much later, when Mac finally exited the bathroom in one of his large t-shirts, Will wordlessly helped her put the sling back on, and then gave her a hand climbing into bed, arranging several pillows around her to better support her shoulder as she lay on her uninjured side.

"I'm sorry for being so much trouble," Mac whispered pitifully.

But this was the last straw for Will. "Will you just stop apologizing?" he snapped, irritated.

Mac's eyes flooded with fresh tears. "I can't help it!" she whimpered. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I can't even look at you without thinking about all the times I've ever hurt you, and it's making me sick to my stomach."

Will threw up his hands in exasperation. "I can't believe we're still talking about this," he said, having reached the end of his tether. "What happened to 'I'm not keeping myself in jail anymore'? What happened to 'Some of us have moved on'? You said those things over a year ago."

"Wishful thinking," replied Mac, managing a crooked and watery smile. "I thought if I said those things, maybe I could fool myself into actually believing them, but that hasn't happened." The smile, such as it was, soon faded. "There's no reason for you to be so good to me," she whimpered, lying there helplessly as he tucked a sheet loosely around her waist.

"I didn't know I needed a reason," Will quipped, desperately trying to lighten both of their moods. It didn't work.

Mac let out a harsh sob. "Will, _please_, I'm begging you. I feel like I'm drowning, I feel like I'm being buried alive. I have no idea how to stop feeling like this."

Will opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to think of anything he could say or do to improve the situation, but as he watched her eyes grow heavier, he knew that she was simply in no condition to continue this conversation right now.

"You just try to get some sleep," Will urged. "I promise we'll talk later, okay?"

Mac was too exhausted, too sore and too inconsolable to protest. Will lay down beside her, resting one hand on the small of her back and massaging gentle circles into her taut muscles until she fell into a fitful sleep, her tears drying on her cheeks.

When Mac awoke once more, it was very dark outside, and Will had gone. Her tears had dried up for the moment, and her head felt a little clearer, thanks to her long nap, but after the day they had had, finding herself on her own instantly sent her anxiety ratcheting through the roof. _Will would never leave without telling you_, Mac rationalized, so she knew he was somewhere in the apartment, but her heart lurched nonetheless. She knew that she really, really should not be alone right now.

Mac rolled gingerly over to the side of the bed and lowered herself to the floor. The air was chilly after the warmth of Will's bed, so she grabbed a blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed, wrapping it around herself before tiptoeing from the room in search of him.

She found him sitting alone in the living room, staring absently out the window, the forgotten television screen providing the only light in the room. Mac breathed easier as soon as she laid eyes on him, but she still hovered uncertainly near the kitchen, not wanting to bother him if he had retreated out here to get away from her.

Mac didn't make a sound, but Will had always had a sixth sense when it came to her, because he looked up almost at once, spotting her. In the darkness, and swallowed up by his shirt, several sizes too large for her, Mac looked dangerously frail, like she would break if he so much looked at her the wrong way.

"Hey," he said, trying to smile as he flicked on the lights. "Are you feeling any better?"

Briefly, Mac considered lying, but what was the point? Will was always going to be able to see the truth anyway, and the deception wouldn't help.

"No," she admitted miserably, hurrying over to him. She sank down onto the couch beside him and cast aside the blanket, resting her head on Will's shoulder. "I really want a drink," she confessed, "but I figured this was a better idea."

Will said nothing, simply squeezing her good shoulder and pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.

Mac burrowed her face deeper into Will's shoulder, but no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to get close enough. She felt like she wouldn't be satisfied unless she could climb right inside his very skin. After a while, she wriggled down the couch, curling up into a quasi-fetal position around her sling, and rested her tear-streaked head in Will's lap.

"I hate seeing you like this," Will said, and he sounded so heartbroken that Mac wanted to weep all over again.

"I know," she said hollowly. "I'm sorr—". She broke off abruptly, savagely biting her lip to halt the very words that had made Will so angry before.

Will trailed his fingers through her hair, and the gesture was so sweet that Mac couldn't hold back a little half-sob.

"There's no reason you should have ever forgiven me," she said, her voice quavering.

It was almost identical to the remark that he had mishandled earlier that afternoon, but after sitting here in the dark for several hours, alone with his thoughts, Will was prepared this time.

"Honestly, I don't think logic really factors into it," he began slowly. "I think it mostly just comes down to _wanting_ to." He paused, and took a deep breath. "I never had any desire to forgive my father."

At these words, Mac bolted upright so fast that she almost wrenched her shoulder back out of its socket. She gasped loudly, though whether it was more from the shock or the pain, she honestly couldn't have said.

"Are you okay?" Will asked at once, his eyes flashing with worry.

"I'm fine," Mac choked, though her eyes were watering from the pain. "Finish – finish what you were going to say." Mac's heart was racing, and in spite of the renewed agony, she suddenly felt more awake, more alert than she had all day, ever since the accident.

Will had told her once – _once_ – about his father, had squeezed out the entire painful story one night when she had asked him. Mac had listened, uncharacteristically silent and still at Will's side, holding his hands as he spoke until his voice was raw and he couldn't force out even one more word. When he was finished, absolutely drained, Mac had taken him into her arms, embracing him as tightly as she possibly could, and they had never spoken of it again. Until now.

Before he could continue, Will reached down, pulling Mac's bare legs into his lap. It took only a split-second for Mac to realize what he wanted, and she scooted back down the couch toward him, so he could bend her legs and bury his face in the skin there. He closed his eyes and inhaled for a moment, and Mac tried to ignore the pang of guilt she felt when he kissed one knee.

She knew that Will needed this tactile contact with her legs, needed it in practically the same way that he needed oxygen. They were almost always the part of her he reached for first, especially when he was anxious or stressed, but this was the first time since they had gotten back together that he had any real contact without her pants or a skirt in the way. More than any other aspect of their physical relationship, even more than kissing or making love, Mac felt awful about holding back from Will for so long in this respect. After the incredible stress they had been through today, it was no wonder that he needed more, and she was relieved that he felt secure enough to simply take what he needed from her now.

Will straightened up a short time later, but he made no move to relinquish her legs. He exhaled. "Hitting my father was the most satisfying thing I had ever felt in my life," he said tightly, pouring all of his nervous energy into gently massaging her calves. "He had terrorized our entire family for years, especially my Mom, and it felt _so_ _good_ to finally hit him back. It didn't fix all of our problems, he didn't walk out on us until a couple years later, but in that moment, being able to inflict even a fraction of the pain that he had caused us felt like the sweetest victory of my life."

She should, Mac reflected, probably be deeply offended that he was comparing her betrayal to an alcoholic who had inflicted a decade or more of abuse on him and his family, but she wasn't. Hadn't she always known that his father was the source of the greatest physical and emotional turmoil Will had ever experienced? And her own devastation at what she had single-handedly done to end their relationship was nothing, nothing, to the anguish that she had caused him. The reason she had agonized over it for nearly four years now was because she had been absolutely petrified that she had broken him beyond repair.

Will drew in a great, shuddering breath, concentrating on the back of Mac's knees now, before forging ahead. "When you came back last year, I fully expected that hurting you would feel just as satisfying, but you were already punishing yourself far better than I ever could, and I really didn't like how it felt."

When she had crawled, despondently, from Will's bed a few minutes ago, this was not remotely the conversation that Mac expected them to be having now, but she had a pretty good idea where he was going with all of this. It felt like he was opening up her chest like a surgeon, shining a bright light into all the dark corners, and exposing almost every secret that was written on the walls of her heart. She squirmed a little, bitterly uncomfortable in the spotlight, but she didn't pull away from the examination.

"Before I took you to _Phantom_ a couple months ago, when was the last time you saw a Broadway show, or ate at your favourite restaurant?" Will asked. "When was the last time you took a vacation, or treated yourself to a hot fudge sundae? When was the last time you spoke to any of our old friends?"

"You know that the answer to all of those questions is almost four years," Mac said quietly, surrendering to the truth at last.

Will nodded, relieved that she hadn't attempted to deny it. "Yeah. You've spent _four years_ beating yourself up about this in every way imaginable, denying yourself anything that would give you even a moment of pleasure. You have worked yourself to the bone, not sleeping or eating properly, not taking care of yourself, being far too reckless when it comes to your own well-being."

It was surreal, having entire years of your life summed up in one tidy definition, but Mac couldn't deny even one word of what Will was saying. Though some of it had been deliberate, some of it only unconscious or incidental, every action, every decision, every word from the last four years had been carried out with the belief in the back of her mind that she needed to pay for what she did.

"Did you go to Afghanistan to punish yourself over what happened too?" Will asked. He stopped massaging Mac's legs as he waited for her answer, but he didn't push them off of his lap.

"Partly," Mac said, her throat dry.

Will shot her a knowing, disbelieving look.

"Mostly," she amended.

Will grimaced, even though he had already known what her answer would be.

Mac remembered thinking that it would be better if she volunteered to go overseas herself, rather than the network having to send someone who had a spouse or children waiting for them back home. There was, to be sure, some element of the ambitious and idealistic journalist behind Mac's decision, the desire to dive into the thick of things and report the real stories on the ground, but if she was being honest, Mac could admit that she had taken a lot of unnecessary risks. They were all extremely fortunate to have come out of the experience reasonably unharmed.

Will shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track. "The point is, not once, in all these months we've been working together again, has it felt good to see you punish yourself over any of it. I realized that very early on, but for a while, I still couldn't figure out where we stood. I thought that it would be too difficult, too painful to let you back in all the way, and it wasn't _easy_, but it hurt even more to see every day how unhappy you were."

Mac's breath was coming shallowly now, her chest rising and falling rapidly under his shirt. She had forgotten entirely about any pain in her shoulder, because she was hanging on every word that fell from Will's mouth.

"There are some things that are unforgivable," Will continued, his hands clenching into unconscious fists in his lap. "Grown men abusing their wives and children? That's unforgivable. Making a stupid mistake because you got scared? We've all done that."

Taking his eyes off her legs at last, Will reached for Mac's good hand, helping her to sit up and lacing his fingers through hers. "I didn't fully realize it until tonight – maybe because I still didn't want to think about what you did, why you needed forgiving, but I do. _I forgive you_, Mac."

Despite the fact that every gesture from the last several months had been a demonstration of this very thing, hearing Will actually speak the words was unexpectedly powerful. Mac bowed her head, letting the feeling wash over her like some kind of warm, ritual cleansing. Her eyes, which she had thought were absolutely spent, welled with tears once more, and for the second time tonight, but for a very different reason, simply sitting beside Will on this couch did not allow her to get remotely close enough.

Before she could change her mind, Mac got to her feet, leaning against a bewildered Will to steady herself, before impatiently pulling him up to join her. Burying her good hand in his hair, she tugged his mouth down to meet hers.

This kiss could not have been more different from the night of the bin Laden broadcast – it was tentative, and tender, and more of a heartfelt _thank you_ than any words could have ever conveyed, because this time Mac had initiated the contact. Will responded at once, making the blood sing in her ears, but he allowed her to control the pace, and she kept it slow and gentle.

It wasn't long before Mac's nerve ran out, and she had to pull back, hooking her good arm up and under his shoulder, and burying her face in his chest. But she had just enough courage left for one more thing, and it was definitely time.

"I love you so much, Will," said Mac, turning her head to ensure that her words wouldn't be lost in his shirt. Her heart, filled to the brim with a mix of joy and terror, felt like it was about to burst out of her chest, and she prayed with every atom of her being that he knew how astronomically big these steps were for her.

He did.

"I love you, too," Will replied in an instant. From the way that the words practically spilled out of him, Mac could tell that he had been dying to say them for months, that he had merely been waiting for the moment that he could be sure they weren't going to scare her off. She hugged him even tighter, hating the fact that she couldn't embrace him with both of her arms.

Mindful of her injury, Will settled one of his hands on her hip, the other cradling her head tightly against him. "I just want you to be able to forgive yourself," he said, burying his fingers in her hair.

Mac didn't respond right away, but neither did she shrink away from him. "Tonight, for the first time," she said slowly, "I actually believe that I'm going to get there."

Though it would probably have been safer for Mac to sleep alone that night, to reduce the risk of either of them accidentally jostling her shoulder, Will and Mac needed closeness tonight too much to even consider it. As he changed for bed, Will looked like he felt a little guilty about not volunteering to stay in the guest room, but one stern look from Mac was all it took to have him rearrange her nest of pillows to accommodate them both.

Lying on her good side, curled up as tightly as possible against Will's warmth, Mac simply couldn't imagine feeling this safe anywhere else. He could have been holding her heart, still beating, in his bare hands, and she would still have slept soundly in his arms. There was no one else in the world she trusted this much – he was never, ever going to hurt her.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for the huge delay before this chapter – first there was writer's block, then there was a week in the hospital, then there was more writer's block … But anyway, it's done now!

I really hope you enjoy it, and that you'll let me know what you think! I can't tell you how much the reviews I received in the hospital meant to me. I was pretty miserable for a while, and they really cheered me up. THANK YOU!


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the weekend was spent in much the same way, with Will and Mac hovering little more than arm's length apart, both of them needing comfort in the wake of the accident. They both knew just how lucky they had been, recognizing that the outcome could have been far, far worse. For the better part of three days, neither of them were eager to stray very far from Will's bed or his couch, talking and cuddling and reassuring each other.

By Sunday evening, however, their workaholic instincts had begun to kick in, both of them itching to return to the chaos of the newsroom. After promising Will that she would take it easy, that she wouldn't try to do too much all at once, Mac called Charlie to let him know that they would be back the next day.

The staff were all clustered around the desks nearest the elevators when Will and Mac arrived on Monday morning, and they applauded loudly as the pair made their way into the bullpen. Mac's face flushed in an instant. Gazing around at their beaming faces, Mac had to wonder just what version of the story they had been given, and by whom.

She cleared her throat. "Conference room, now," she said briskly, shooting them all her look of practiced sternness, though the effect was considerably diminished by the almost comical redness in her cheeks. "Maybe you got away with all this standing around with Don and Elliot in charge, but I expect pitches. The G8 Summit, Libya, the NATO airstrikes in Afghanistan. Go!"

Still grinning, the News Night team scattered, spurred into action. Mac glanced up at Will as they settled into their seats in the conference room, and found him smirking back at her, as she had known he would be. He knew that she had never wanted the limelight, would always be more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it, and would be much happier if things could all just get back to normal as quickly as possible. Still, surrounded by their work family, he couldn't resist teasing her just a little. She stuck her tongue out at him, the blush finally receding from her cheeks, before calling the pitch meeting to order.

It didn't take long for the predictable rhythm of the newsday to take hold. Though Mac's arm was still immobilized against her chest, she did all the things that she normally did and more, effortlessly switching hands or working one-handed whenever necessary. Pretty soon, the others began to forget that the sling was even there, or that she and Will had ever been away at all.

The day progressed as usual, right up until the two minute warning before airtime, when Will turned and entered the control room upon leaving his office, rather than taking his seat at the anchor desk. Struggling to arrange her headset over her ears without the aid of a second hand, Mac looked up at him in surprise.

"You do know you've got a show to do," she remarked, with a slight quirk of her eyebrow.

"This will only take a minute," Will said, coming to stand behind her and slipping one arm around her, reaching for her right wrist. Before Mac even realized what he was up to, Will had slipped from her wrist the spare hair elastic Mac always wore there. Gathering her hair in his fingers, Will deftly twisted it up into the ponytail that Mac always wore when she was producing.

"Now we can do the show," Will said simply, squeezing her hip and making his way into the studio just in time.

Mac blushed in the darkness, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but a fleeting glance around the control room showed that nobody was paying them any attention, deeply immersed in their own tasks.

Not for the first time, Mac wondered what their colleagues knew. Too often, the newsroom felt like a slightly older version of middle school, complete with the rumours and the hormones, but she and Will had never faced any of the whispers, giggles and knowing glances she had been anticipating for months. Charlie had certainly been smiling more lately, but he had good instincts about these things, and could always be relied upon to be discreet. Perhaps Jim had spoken to the rest of the staff, said something before the gossip could reach her ears – she knew that he, more than anyone, had seen firsthand how much happier she and Will had both been lately, and there was just no way that an entire newsroom full of reporters could be this unobservant.

Still, there was no need to make it too obvious for them, so when it was time to get ready for their show the next night, Mac made a detour to Will's office, coyly presenting him with her wrist, and allowing him to tie her hair back, in private this time. He did this for her every night for the next two weeks, until she was finally allowed to stop wearing the sling. Now that she was fully able to take care of herself once more, Mac had officially moved back to her own apartment, though she and Will were actually spending more time together than ever.

The weeks passed, and Mac began attending regular physical therapy sessions at the hospital to help her regain the full use of her shoulder. These appointments kept her away from the newsroom far more than she would have liked, but Jim was happily taking on extra responsibilities in her absence, and she still arrived in plenty of time to avert any disasters that arose before showtime. By July, Mac's shoulder was almost as good as new.

**Last physical therapy session today**, Mac texted Will one morning, walking into the hospital as she typed. **You should take me out tonight to celebrate**. She had just reached the waiting room when her phone beeped in reply. She smiled, hovering just inside the doorway to read Will's response.

Mac was still grinning when the phone was knocked out of her hand, and she was shoved roughly, her arm scraping against the receptionist's desk as she staggered and lost her balance.

"Hey!" she yelled, but the breath had been knocked out of her, so the sound that emerged was really more of a croak. This was just as well, because it was only after she had righted herself, and was whirling around to confront the idiot responsible, that Mac finally saw the gun.

As she watched, frozen where she stood, the young man swept into the centre of the room, and, lifting one foot, he stomped down on her phone, shattering it beneath his heel. The next second, he was pointing the gun at the small crowd, and the room was suddenly filled with screams and shouts. Mac was too stunned to make a sound, her mouth dropping open in silent shock.

"Shut up!" the gunman yelled, wheeling around and aiming at anyone who dared to disobey him. Just as quickly, the cries were silenced, and all that could be heard was the sound of a dozen people gulping for air, the room suddenly devoid of oxygen.

"Everybody sit down!" he shouted. The others complied at once, scrambling to find seats as quickly as they could. Mac found an empty chair in one corner of the room, and sank down into it, her legs shaking beneath her.

As Mac watched, the gunman rounded the receptionist's desk, speaking to her in a low voice. The receptionist said something back, her forehead wrinkling just slightly, but whatever she said did not please the gunman, because the next instant his gun was pressed against her temple. Visibly trembling, the woman picked up the phone, dialed a number, and relayed the message the gunman had given her. When she was finished, she returned the phone to its cradle, and he lowered his gun, coming back around the desk and pacing from one end of the room to the other, muttering to himself under his breath.

Meanwhile, Mac's mind had been working hard, formulating a kind of plan. _He has to want something_, she thought. _I just need to find out what it is_. If he thought that she could help him, then maybe he would be willing to negotiate a surrender, and let the hostages go. She just needed to get closer.

Mac edged forward in her chair, willing the gunman's eyes to meet her own as he passed her, but he wasn't looking her way. Then, something happened that shattered Mac's hopeful delusions once and for all.

Mac's Blackberry, which she had thought broken beyond repair, suddenly surged back to life, reminding her impatiently that she still had an unread text message. The beeping sound fractured the uneasy silence, making everyone leap out of their seats in alarm. No one was more startled, however, than the gunman himself. He spun around, his nervous finger already on the trigger, and fired a bullet through the nearest wall.

Mac's racing heart leapt into her throat, and she sank back into her chair, making herself as small and invisible as possible. _What were you thinking?_ she screamed at herself. _Don't you ever learn?_ After the car accident, Will had all but accused Mac of having a reckless disregard for her own safety, and she had apparently set out to prove him right. This instinct, coupled with a narcissistic belief that she could single-handedly solve the world's problems, had steered her very wrong in the past.

Finding herself in the middle of a Shiite protest in Islamabad, Mac had vaulted into the fray without a second thought, convinced that she could help defuse the situation by giving these angry young men a platform to voice their feelings, but she couldn't have been more wrong. She had quickly found herself lying on the ground, a pool of blood spilling from her abdomen, the camera smashed to pieces beside her, and Jim's frantic face swimming in and out of focus above her.

Mac wouldn't make that same mistake again. Yes, she had learned the hard way that she was way out of her depth that day, but it was more than that. Mac had truly been a different person back then – _that_ Mac was miserable beyond words, and ran headlong into dangerous situations with almost no fear, because she felt she had nothing left to lose. _This_ Mac was different: she was the happiest she had ever been in her life – or at least, she was on the verge of it, which was almost the same thing – and she was prepared to do whatever it took to stay that way. If that included sitting back, staying quiet and leaving this to the professionals, then so be it. Trying to recall everything she had ever heard or read about hostage situations, Mac slouched a little in her chair, doing her very best to blend in.

The gunman stared at the wall for some time, as if he couldn't quite believe that he was responsible for the hole. Finally, he slowly made his way over to the receptionist's desk and leaned against it, his head cradled in one hand, staring down at the gun he still held in the other.

Mac sat perfectly still in her chair, determined not to break the fragile equilibrium that had tentatively been established in the room. Inwardly, however, she was quaking. Though she knew it was the safest course of action, remaining motionless and silent like this went against every instinct she had ever had, and it was making her more agitated and anxious by the second. The silence in the room was deafening, and it pressed in on her, squeezing her throat closed, so that she struggled to draw breath. Her heart raced, and her hands, where she clasped them in her lap, were like ice.

Mac heard a siren in the distance, drawing nearer, and she imagined the police who must be waiting just outside, patiently assessing the standoff. She knew from experience that if the police were here, then the media would not be far behind.

Media.

Will.

_Will_ would be watching this.

Mac's heart thudded painfully. _Will_, she thought frantically. _Will, I'm so sorry!_

Because this was going to kill him.

She imagined him standing stock-still in his office, watching a live shot of the hospital, fully aware that she was caught right in the middle of it. _He must be losing his mind_! Mac thought, filled with a sudden, excruciating pain. She had witnessed first-hand just how much it had shaken Will when she was hit by that car, and the only real injury that day had been her shoulder. If she died here today, it would absolutely destroy him, and he really would never recover.

_Stop this_, Mac blasted herself. _You spent more than two years in the middle of a war-zone, and you survived. There is just no way that some punk with a gun is going to come between us now, not when we're so close to where we need to be._

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, Mac's frozen fingers inched towards the collar of her shirt, until they were touching the leather cord she always wore around her neck. Touching it grounded her, and she began to feel better almost at once. She could feel the large pendant, nestled between her breasts, and concentrating on it, she was able to draw herself inwards, until Will's name, and his face, were the sole focus of her mind's eye.

_Breathe in, breathe out_, she said to herself, _breathe in, breathe out. You're going to be fine. You're going to get out of here, and then you can go find Will. Everything is going to be just fine._ If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, Mac could almost feel his arms around her, keeping her calm and safe.

For a long time after that, nothing happened, nobody moving a muscle for hours, but Mac no longer felt restless, now that she had Will to focus on. Over and over in her mind, she imagined the moment when she would finally be able to put him out of his misery.

The part of her mind that remained alert to her surroundings was still watching the gunman, whose emotions had shifted from panicked to resigned sometime in the last hour. He had released the hold he had on the gun, letting it rest on the desk, and for some time now, he had been staring at the phone, as if he was willing it to ring. When it did, at last, a little after 1:00, he and Mac were the only ones who didn't jump.

In the end, it took very little negotiating with the police to get the gunman to surrender. He answered the phone, and, after a short conversation, agreed to lay down his gun, allowing the police officers who were waiting outside the door to arrest him. When he was finally gone, the other hostages slowly and cautiously began to move and speak freely again. Many of them hugged each other, crying tears of relief.

Mac wanted no part of it. Her desperation to get out of there, get to Will as quickly as possible, was so strong that she couldn't even sit still any longer. There are procedures that must be followed in situations like this, however, and so Mac submitted, albeit impatiently, to police questioning. When they urged her to seek medical treatment, or to speak to someone about the ordeal, however, Mac politely but firmly declined.

Finally, Mac was free to go. She was able to restrain herself, taking swift but measured steps as she made her way back through the lobby, but as soon as she reached the hospital entrance, she was off and running down the street as quickly as her legs would carry her. She noted the crush of media outside, but didn't stop for a second. Mac could probably have borrowed a phone from any number of people there, but she couldn't bear to waste even a second more than she had to. She needed to get to Will.

With this single-minded determination, Mac raced the entire way to the studio, a few blocks away, only stopping to breathe when she hurled herself into the elevator of the ACN building.

"Mac!" somebody shouted, the instant she emerged into the newsroom. Every head turned in her direction, and before she could say a word, the entire staff was running towards her, relief on all of their faces. Maggie, Jim and Don all reached her at the same time, and Jim pulled her into a tight hug.

Mac hugged him back, loosely, for a moment, but she had more important things on her mind, so she soon pushed him away. "Where's Will?" she asked, craning around, keenly aware that the only person she wanted to see right now was the one member of their team _not_ in the vicinity. "I'm fine, guys, back off. Where is he?"

Nobody answered, but Jim ran a nervous hand through his hair, a slightly pained look on his face. It was the one he wore when he had something he didn't want to tell her.

"Everybody back to work," Mac said quietly, her throat tightening. She swallowed hard. "Jim?"

Jim sighed, and pulled Mac over to his desk. "Will was super freaked out. He shut himself up in his office hours ago," Jim said quietly. "Said he didn't want to see anybody until it was over, one way or another, and you were either here, or…"

Mac nodded, her heart sinking. Though she had been expecting the worst, this was about as bad as she could have imagined. She beckoned Don over to join them.

"Do you guys have the show under control for tonight?" she asked them.

"Should you even be here?" Don asked. "Shouldn't you take the day off, go home, try to relax?" Jim didn't say anything, but from the looks he was giving her, he was clearly thinking the same thing.

Mac rolled her eyes impatiently. It was like they didn't know her at all. "The best thing for me right now is to stay busy, so if Will wants to do the show, we're doing it. I have no idea what I'm walking in on in there, so you'd better let Elliot know we might need him to step in."

"Got it," said Don, squeezing her arm.

"Once I go in there, I don't want anyone disturbing us. I don't care what's happening out here, nobody even comes near that door. Understand? I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I can, and we can start making plans."

Both men nodded, returning to their desks, while Mac made her way over to Will's office. She knocked softly, though she could see that the lights were off, and Will wasn't at his desk. Mac opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind her, and crossed over to the bathroom. She knocked again, but still there was no answer.

"Will, it's me, it's Mackenzie," she called through the door. Still, she was greeted by silence. Her heart pounding hard, Mac turned the handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and pushed the door open at once.

Sitting on the floor beside the sink, his knees bent and his hands buried in his hair, was Will. He didn't look up at the sound of the door opening. Her heart in her throat, Mac was at his side in an instant.

"Will?" she whispered, kneeling down and laying a hand on his arm. At her touch, Will lifted his head, and she saw his face, all tear-stained and bleary-eyed, his shirt rumpled, his hair sticking up in all directions. He blinked, but his eyes remained empty, not even a flicker of recognition in them, and Mac's heart broke.

"Will, it's me," she implored, cupping his cheek. "Look at me, I'm fine." But Will remained blank and unresponsive, seeing Mac without knowing her at all.

"Can you stand for me?" Mac urged after a couple minutes, gently coaxing Will to his feet. She let him lean heavily against her as she guided him out of the bathroom and over to his desk chair. Once he was settled, she cleared some papers off his desk and hopped up onto the desk herself, pulling his chair closer, so that her feet rested on either side of his legs.

Leaning forward, and stroking Will's face once more, Mac willed him to pull himself out of this stupor, wishing she knew what to do to help him. Mac tried everything she could think of, but no matter what she said or did, absolutely nothing got through to him.

Rapidly approaching her wit's end, Mac reached for Will's hands, which were hanging loosely at his sides. If this didn't work, she had no clue what she was going to do, because then she really would be out of ideas.

Lowering Will's hands to rest on her thighs, Mac wished fervently that she hadn't chosen this one day to wear jeans instead of a skirt. She needn't have worried, however, because the instant Will had his hands on her, Mac could _feel_ the change as it came over him.

Cautiously at first, Will trailed his hands up and down her legs, as if desperately attempting to convince himself that what he was feeling was real, and not just some kind of illusion sent to torment him. His touch grew increasingly more purposeful with every second that passed, until he was digging his fingers into her legs in a way that would almost have been painful, if she hadn't been so unimaginably grateful.

Reaching the top of her thighs once more, Will tilted his head upwards, peering timidly up at her. Mac almost sobbed with relief to see that the blank look had been erased from his features. This was _her_ Will, and he recognized her at last.

"Mac?" Will whimpered softly, his voice cracking on the single word.

"It's me," Mac choked, blinking rapidly. "I'm here."

Mac had just enough time to see Will's whole face crumple, before he launched himself at her, burying his face in the front of her shirt, his hands never leaving her thighs. Mac's arms were locked around his shoulders in an instant, and she could barely contain a whimper of her own. For hours, she had successfully maintained a tight lid over her emotions, but finally feeling the warmth of his body against hers sent a surge of relief through her so strong that it threatened to thoroughly overwhelm her. She had been so close to losing all of this.

_Stop this_, Mac lambasted herself. _You are fine. Keep. It. Together. Will needs you._

"I'm here," Mac repeated, murmuring fervently against his ear. "I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm here." Over and over, she kept repeating these words, the whole front of her shirt growing damp.

Will was shaking so hard that it was almost impossible for Mac to maintain her grip around him, but there was no power in this world that would have induced her to let go of him right now. She held on tightly as he shook, silently, in her arms.

"You have to stop doing this to me," Will rambled against the stranglehold on his vocal cords. He kept gasping and gulping for air, and his voice cracked once more.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Mac murmured, her arms tightening impossibly around him.

The pair of them sat like that for an eternity, neither having any concept of the passage of time. It was hours before Will spoke again. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, still trembling. "Show me."

"What?"

Will pulled away from her, disentangling her limbs from around his body. "Show me where you got hurt," Will repeated. "Please, I need – Please," he begged, long past the point of caring whether his words made any sense.

Slowly, Mac sat back and removed her blazer, glancing down at her arm for the first time since the whole ordeal began. Her upper arm was scraped and a little bruised, but it hardly compared to some of the many injuries she had been able to inflict upon herself over the years.

She turned a little on the desk, twisting her arm and extending it to show Will. "Look," she entreated. "This is all, I swear. I'm fine."

Will took her arm in both of his hands, and traced a finger over her skin in disbelief, as if he half-suspected that his eyes were deceiving him, and expected to find broken bones and bullet holes if only he looked hard enough.

When a closer examination revealed nothing of the sort, Will let out a great, shuddering breath, and lowered his head to rest on Mac's thigh, thoroughly exhausted. He rested his arms on the desk, draped loosely around her hips. Mac trailed her fingers through Will's hair, and he sighed softly against her leg, beginning to breathe more evenly at last.

Glancing up at the clock at last, Mac saw that they didn't have much time before the final rundown meeting. She guided Will's head back up from her leg, and he needed no further encouragement to bury his head back in her middle, this time wrapping his arms around her waist.

"It's almost 6:00," Mac said, softly and reluctantly breaking the silence. "What do you want to do?"

As she had feared, the mere mention of the outside world instantly had Will stiffening in her arms, intruding on this little sanctuary that she had created for him here. She heard his breath hitch again in his throat, and she bent down a little to nuzzle his temple. He moaned softly.

"You don't have to do the show tonight," Mac reassured him, her voice deliberately steady and calm. "Absolutely nobody will think less of you if it's too much for you. We can go home, go straight to bed, and not move for a week if that's what you need." She paused. "Or, we can do the show, and I will be in your ear the _entire_ time. It's your call."

"What about you?" Will asked at once. "What do you want to do?"

"I can't make this decision for you, Will," Mac said firmly. "You're the one sitting in that chair, remember?"

"But you're the one this happened to," he argued. "I should be the one holding you, comforting you."

Mac could hear a hint of bitter self-loathing creeping into his voice, and she was having none of it. "Don't you dare try to diminish what you went through today," Mac said, her voice low and hard as iron. "You must have been driving yourself mad, imagining the worst. This happened to both of us, and we'll get through it together. There will be plenty of time later for you to worry about me. For now, let's just focus on you, okay?"

"But aren't you still scared?" Will pressed, his voice cracking.

"Not here," Mac said, holding him tighter, resolutely blocking out thoughts of anything but him. "My control room is the second safest place in the world I could be right now."

It took a few seconds for Will to process these words through the thick fog he still found himself in. "What's the safest?" he asked, eventually.

"Right here," Mac said, hear eyes tearing up and her throat tightening. "Wherever you are." She tightened her arms once more. "Now, stop deflecting. I _know_ this is hard, and I won't ask you to make any more decisions tonight, but this one is on you. Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen, okay?"

Will didn't answer right away.

"Will?" Mac prodded gently.

"Give me a minute," he said desperately, bunching the back of her shirt in his fists. She could feel him trying to inch closer, working to control his breathing, and her heart broke for the millionth time that day. With these simple actions, Mac knew without words that Will was steeling himself to be braver than he felt, because he wanted to make her proud.

Mac meant it when she said that she would stand by Will's decision, but she found herself wishing that he had chosen differently. Not for herself, but for him – she just couldn't help feeling this was a bad idea. Not for one moment did she imagine he would let her down – Will would kill himself before he let that happen – but that was precisely the problem. What if he pushed himself too hard tonight, sending him straight back into the tailspin she had just drawn him from, only worse? How would they ever recover?

Still, she could almost hear the thoughts going on in Will's head right now, and there was a part of him that wanted to prove to himself that he could do this, that things could go on as normal, because both of them were here, safe and sound, in spite of what they had been through today. And so, worried though she was for him, Mac knew that she was powerless to deny him this. Drawing him even closer, Mac curled her legs around his torso, hugging him to her tighter than ever, doing anything she could to give him the strength he would need to get through this.

"I'll do the show," Will said at last, his breath warm as he mumbled into her shirt. "But you've got to be there," Will blurted, terror flooding into his voice almost immediately. "I don't want even once second of silence, Mac, otherwise—"

"Shhh, shhh," Mac crooned, burying her fingers in his hair once more and gently massaging his scalp. "I know. I've got you, I'll take care of you, don't worry."

Though there was nothing else she could have done, Mac wished she hadn't left this conversation so late, because it really was time now to join the rest of the team for the final rundown meeting, and there was no time to calm Will down before he had to face all of those people. She wished she could shield him from all of it, but she _had_ to attend the meeting, and she didn't even want to think about what would happen if she suggested leaving him here while she went on her own.

"Come on," Mac said. "It's time to go." She reached for Will's hands and pulled him to his feet, easing him slowly around the desk. Before they had taken more than a couple steps, Will halted, wrapping his arms back around her and burying his face in her neck.

Mac gave him as much time as she could, but eventually, she had to pull away. She cupped Will's cheek, forcing him to look her in the eye. "You don't have to say anything. You don't even have to pay attention. Just leave it all to me, okay?"

One hand on the small of his back, Mac guided Will out into the newsroom. The rest of the staff were already seated in the conference room, but Jim, Don and Charlie were standing just outside the door, waiting. When Will and Mac finally reached them, Charlie hugged her and kissed her cheek.

"We're doing the show," Mac announced without preamble, taking Will's hand as soon as she pulled away from Charlie, and linking her fingers through his.

"Are you sure?" Don asked, peering doubtfully at Will. It looked as though it was taking everything he had simply to remain upright, and the wild, petrified look still hadn't receded from his eyes.

"I'll have him ready," Mac vowed, squeezing Will's hand and stroking it with her thumb to give him something to focus on. "We'll have to do things a little differently tonight, but we can make it work."

"Different how?"

From the moment she realized what Will's decision was going to be, Mac's brain had been in overdrive, working out the logistics of the broadcast. Though it was Jim who had asked the question, Mac turned and locked eyes with Will, explaining her plan as if they were still the only two people in the room.

"Jim and Don will really be running the show," she explained. "All the technical details and everything. All I'm doing is managing Will, and anything he needs to know goes through me. Elliot's on standby in case we need him to take over, but we won't. We can do this. Everybody understand?"

Will was hanging onto her every word, and she squeezed his hand encouragingly when he gave her a slight nod, before turning away from him at last. "I'm sure, Charlie," she said firmly, answering the unasked question she could see forming on his lips.

"That's all I need to know," he replied, offering her a small smile. "Glad you're okay, kiddo."

That settled, the group made their way into the conference room to join the rest of the team, Mac helping Will into a chair near the door before taking the one beside him. As the meeting got underway, Mac's pen flew across her notepad, scribbling a rudimentary script.

Though she hardly looked up once, seeming to be entirely focused on the task at hand, a bigger part of Mac's brain was still concentrating on Will. She never took her hand off him throughout the entire meeting, squeezing his arm or stroking the back of his neck whenever she felt his anxiety building.

Mac was dimly aware that she and Will were on display, that everyone could see her touching him, but she couldn't spare the energy to worry about that right now. She didn't want any of them, anyone but her, to see Will like this, but these guys, all of them, were family. It had seemed so important before, to keep their relationship away from prying eyes. Now, all Mac cared about was getting him through this night.

Don waited until the end of the meeting to bring up the touchiest subject of all. "We've got to cover the story about the gunman, Mac," he said, almost apologetically. "Everyone else is going to have it in the B block, but this one is entirely your call."

Mac's throat closed briefly, but she swallowed and nodded. "I know." Will let out a tiny whimper she prayed only she could hear.

"Easy, easy," she murmured, stroking his arm. She turned her chair to face him, lifting his chin so he had no choice but to look at her. "We'll put it off until the very end of the show, okay? It'll be the last thing you have to do."

Will did not look at all sure about this, tension lining every inch of his face, but he braced himself and nodded. Mac squeezed his hand harder than ever.

When the meeting was over, Mac guided Will back to his office, closing the door firmly behind them, and pulling his taut body back into her arms. She had just over an hour to pull Will together, and make him presentable for television.

For the next hour, they hardly said a word. Mac shoved a sandwich into Will's hand, forcing him to eat for the first time since breakfast, while she organized her notes. Sending him into the bathroom to change, she finished writing his script, making good on her promise that he wouldn't have to think for the rest of the night. When Will emerged from the bathroom, his hands were trembling too much, so she helped him to button his shirt, put on his tie, and comb his messy hair.

When they simply couldn't delay any longer, Mac escorted Will to the anchor desk, securing his microphone to his jacket.

"You can still change your mind," Mac told him, crouching beside his chair and stroking his hand. "It's not too late. Elliot can still step in."

Will shook his head, wordlessly, but he still looked like he was only seconds away from bolting out of his chair and curling up in a ball on the floor of his office. Mac would have liked nothing better than to take him back there, or better yet, bring him straight home, but they were rapidly approaching airtime, and so all she could do was to squeeze both of his hands in her smaller ones.

"You can do this," she said quietly, resting her forehead against his. "Just listen to me, and you'll be fine." Then, with her stomach tangled up in knots, Mac turned and entered the control room, leaving Will's side for the first time in hours. She knew that if she turned right now and saw the look on his face, she would not be able to keep walking, so she didn't stop until she was settled in her chair.

Her eyes glued to one of the monitors, Mac's heart ached to see that in just those few short seconds, the anxiety on Will's face had increased tenfold. She fumbled with her headset in her rush to reassure him. "Ninety seconds, Will," she said into her microphone, the sound of her voice erasing a fraction of that tension.

She kept talking to him as she organized the script in front of her, but with less than thirty seconds to go, another wave of terror flashed in Will's eyes, and he gripped the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Mac, I—" Will choked.

"Do you trust me?" Mac interrupted, her heart pounding in her chest.

Will swallowed hard, his throat dry. "With all my heart."

"Then we're going to do this. Now, sit up straight. Relax your shoulders. You know how to do this. Just breathe. Ten seconds."

In spite of her confident words, even Mac couldn't believe the transformation that came over Will when the red light went on and the cameras started rolling.

"Good evening. I'm Will McAvoy. Today is Friday, July 8th."

As he had done so many times over the years, Will was pulling himself together, going somewhere deep inside himself and tapping into some hidden store of strength even he didn't realize he possessed. Other than the fact that Mac was feeding Will every word that came out of his mouth, rather than vamping or reading from the prompter, he looked and sounded almost like his normal self. Still, this was on a whole different scale than anything he had ever attempted before, and the slight tremor in his hands told Mac's keen eye that he was frightened out of his wits. Mac crossed her fingers and sent up a quick prayer that she would be able to guide him through it unscathed.

It took Mac only a few seconds to adjust to listening to Jim with one ear and concentrating on Will with every other part of her being. She knew that they all thought she was crazy for trying to do this tonight, but they couldn't have been more wrong. Other than being worried about Will, this was the calmest Mac had felt all day, because having to focus on so many things at once meant that there was just no energy remaining for her to think about what she had gone through. As she had told Will, that part would come later.

Still, they weren't out of the woods yet. The longer Will struggled to keep it together, the worse his hands shook. Not a moment too soon, they reached their first commercial break.

"Close your eyes," Mac said firmly, the moment they were clear. Will obeyed her without question, bowing his head and hunching forward a little in his chair. "Take a deep breath. In. Out. I'm right here. I'm fine. You're doing fine. You've got this."

Mac kept a running commentary like this going for the rest of the commercial break, knowing that it didn't really matter what she was saying, just that the sound of her voice was the only thing holding him together. With each segment that followed, Will's trembling grew progressively worse, and each time it became harder and harder for Mac to pull him back from the brink. Finally, Mac had him lead into the final commercial break, knowing there would be nothing she could say that would calm him down this time.

"Just one more segment, Will," Mac said, much more calmly than she really felt. "Are you ready?" This was going to be the most difficult hurdle of all, and they all knew it.

"I don't think so," Will choked, wild-eyed with fear once more. "Mac, I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Mac said adamantly, but she was already on her feet, up and moving back towards the studio, marker and notepad in hand. Before she pushed open the door, she turned and addressed the staff.

"When this is over, I want everyone out of here. Everyone. We'll talk on Monday, but for tonight, I want you all to leave without a word the second we're off the air."

Without waiting for a response, Mac shoved open the door and marched back into the studio. With sixty seconds to go, she took up a spot just to the left of the camera and knelt down, writing furiously. Finally, she stood and held up the notepad for Will.

"Look at me," she said, staring deep into his eyes. "_Look_, Will. You're almost done. You're going to have to read this one, I can't speak it for you out here. Just read it for me, and then we're out of here. Ten seconds."

His whole body shaking with tremors, Will's eyes fixed on the notepad Mac was holding in front of her chest. With monumental effort, he pulled himself together one more time.

"This last story hits close to home for this program. A gunman took a dozen people hostage in a New York City hospital this morning," Will read, his voice low and emotional, but perfectly clear. "Among them was News Night's own executive producer, Mackenzie McHale. After a standoff lasting more than five hours, the gunman surrendered to police. No word yet on motive, but all of the hostages were released unharmed."

Will shuddered, about to crumble under the pressure, and Mac gestured pointedly towards the prompter. "Terry Smith is coming up next with the Capitol Report from Washington. I'm Will McAvoy. Good night."

Mac counted down the few remaining seconds until they were clear, and then she was flying across the room, throwing her arms around Will as he collapsed onto the anchor desk, shaking and utterly spent.

They had done it. It was far from the best show she and Will had ever put together, but it had been enough. They had gotten through it. They weren't likely to gain any new viewers after a performance like this, but Mac had a feeling they wouldn't lose many either. And anyway, that wasn't the point – not to her, or Will, or anyone who really mattered. Given the circumstances, Mac was more gratified by this broadcast than any other they had ever done together.

"I am _so_ proud of you," Mac murmured fervently, squeezing Will so tightly that he couldn't possibly breathe. Far from complaining, he was trying to burrow deeper into her embrace.

"I can't let go, Mac, please don't make me," Will begged.

"Not a chance," Mac replied throatily, her eyes bright and her heart pounding hard. "Let's get out of here. Let's go home."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

Thank you so much for reading! Yes, I'm finally back! I was really excited about writing this chapter, because that scene in Will's office was really the starting point for the story, but you would not believe the trouble I had with the gunman part of the chapter. And then I felt like this chapter was getting kind of long, but I couldn't see a natural break, so I decided to leave it as is.

Anyway, I think I'm reasonably happy with it now, but I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

Despite Mac's desperation to get Will home as quickly as possible after the show, it was some time before either of them could relinquish their hold on the other. She could feel the tension continuing to war within him – on the one hand, he was so sapped of energy that he could have fallen asleep right there at the anchor desk. On the other, he was too petrified to close his eyes, worried that she would vanish if he so much as blinked for too long.

And so, they remained locked in the tightest of embraces, all of Mac's senses tuned to the rhythm of Will's breathing. He had done more tonight than she could ever have asked him to do, so she wasn't going to rush him now, not even if it meant staying there all night. _You've got to be strong_, she commanded herself. _He needs you. Just get him home. _

When, at last, Will braced himself and let out a great, shuddering sigh, they set about disentangling their limbs and Mac hoisted Will to his feet. With one arm firmly wrapped around his waist, Mac led him from the studio, through the curiously deserted corridors, and down to their waiting car. She didn't even make him stop in his office to change back into his street clothes. They could return the suit on Monday. Just this once, wardrobe would understand.

Safely ensconced in the back seat of the car, Mac guided Will's head down to rest on her shoulder, and pressed herself up against him, their arms instinctively finding each other in the darkness. They remained that way, silent and unmoving, until the car pulled up outside his building at last.

_Please, God_, she prayed, _tell me I did the right thing? Tell me I didn't push him too far?_ She didn't think she could bear it if he retreated back into himself, as he had before she found him this afternoon. What if she couldn't bring him back this time?

"Almost there," Mac murmured softly, stroking his arm as she helped him climb out of the car. Every scrap that remained of Will's energy was dedicated towards putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling, while Mac could spare no thoughts for anything but getting him upstairs in one peace.

They made it as far as the foot of their bed before Will's legs turned to rubber beneath him, and he sank, bonelessly, onto the edge of the mattress. He let out an involuntary sound that was half-sob, half-whimper, and it pierced Mac's heart like a dagger.

Standing between his legs, she wrapped her arms snugly around him once more. "You're alright," she soothed. "You're fine. I'm right here. It's just you and me now."

Will clung to Mac's slender frame, striving valiantly to match his breathing with hers, but the air caught in his throat several times before he could control it.

"Thank you," he choked into her neck, his heart still racing between them.

"What for?" Mac asked, gently threading her fingers through his hair as a wave of relief washed over her. It was the first time he had spoken since before leaving the anchor desk, the first time she was certain they were going to make it. Keeping the lines of communication open, that was going to be key.

"For keeping me together today," Will explained hoarsely. "For taking care of everything, thinking of everything, so I never had to." His voice softened, so she had to strain to hear it. "For being okay," he finished, his voice cracking.

Mac squeezed him tighter still, as if doing so could erase the many bruises that his battered heart had taken today. "You've put me back together _so_ many times," she said, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of his head. "Let me return the favour, okay?"

Will nodded his exhausted assent against her shoulder, allowing her to help him out of his suit. Soon, he was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, and Mac was easing him gently up the bed, encouraging him to lay on his side on top of the covers. Once he was settled, Mac lay down beside him, leaving not an inch of space between their bodies. She kissed his temple and pulled his arm around her waist, before laying her head beside his on the pillow, their foreheads touching.

A few minutes passed in silence, but Mac was near enough to feel that Will was still breathing too shallowly for her liking, faint tremors still dancing through his body. _Keep him talking_, she reminded herself. _Anything to draw him out of himself_.

Resting one hand on his chest, she lifted her head from the pillow, pulling back just far enough to see his face. "You okay?" she whispered, willing him to fight his way back to her.

"Scared," Will admitted, his voice low and shaky. "I fell apart a few times when you were overseas, but it's never been this bad."

"Tell me," Mac urged. She ran her hand through his hair once more, drawing lazy patterns on his scalp.

Will sighed, and leaned into her touch. "Any time we had bad news about you, I would freak out and have to ask Charlie for the night off. That last time, I was out for three days." He took a great, shuddering breath, remembering, and pulled her closer. "But those were all after the fact – by the time we heard anything, we already knew you were safe. I have never been so scared in my entire life as I was today. I don't know what I would have done if you—"

"I know," Mac interrupted, pausing in her ministrations to hold one finger to his lips, before he had the chance to get too worked up. "I know," she repeated more softly, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Try not to think about that, okay? It won't do any good."

"I just wish I could stop shaking," Will grumbled. "The way I'm behaving, you'd think I was the one who was held hostage today, not you."

"Stop it, Will," Mac admonished firmly. "I told you before, this happened to both of us, remember?"

Will shrugged, and looked away from her, a telltale sign that he disagreed, but he simply didn't have the energy to argue with her. But Mac was not prepared to let it go, not this time.

"I mean it, Will," she warned, turning his face so that he was forced to meet her gaze.

Will sighed, realizing she was serious. "It's just – You've been able to hold it together," he muttered. "So why can't I? What's wrong with me?"

Mac pulled back a little farther, propping herself up on her elbow. She took a moment to gather her thoughts – she knew she would have just the one chance to get through to Will on this one, so she had to get it right the first time. "In a way," she ventured thoughtfully, "I feel like it's actually easier to be the person in danger, rather than the one waiting back home."

Will tilted his head up in response. "Why?" he asked warily.

"When you're in the thick of things, you have no choice but to remain on your guard," Mac explained, trying to pace her words so they didn't come spilling out of her all at once. "There's no time to think, or to worry, because you can't afford to be distracted. When you're the one waiting, there's nothing you can do, so there's nothing _but_ time."

Will pursed his lips, and looked about three seconds away from dismissing her theory, but Mac forged ahead, praying she was doing the right thing. "Remember you told me once that it was easier when your father was going after you, rather than you were at school, wondering what he was up to at home? It's the same thing."

Somewhere in the middle of that speech, Will had gone very still, and was holding his breath, but he hadn't pulled away from her. Mac chose to take that as a good sign. "I had all the facts today," she continued, stroking his hair once more. "I knew where I was, I was as prepared as I could be. You had no way of knowing any of it, and that is _terrifying_. I'd be surprised if you weren't still struggling with it." Her eyes bore into his, begging him to trust her. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, I swear."

Mac watched as Will absorbed the last of her words, but he said nothing at first. Then, slowly, he let out the breath that he had been holding. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

Mac kissed his forehead, breathing her own sigh of relief. "You're exhausted, sweetheart," she murmured, pulling herself up so that she was seated against the headboard. "How about you try to get some sleep?" she suggested, adjusting him so that his head lay in her lap.

Will complied at first, but when he felt the weight of her gaze on him, he opened his eyes once more, peering up at her. "Aren't you getting ready for bed?"

"Maybe later," Mac replied, shrugging. "You just close your eyes, I'm not going anywhere."

But if Mac thought that that would be enough to reassure him, she was sorely mistaken. "I need you to be okay," he said fearfully, his hands anxiously grasping at her jeans. "I won't be able to sleep if you're not okay."

"I am okay, Will," Mac said slowly, puzzled. "Look at me, I'm fine. I'm right here."

"_No_," Will said, growing still more agitated. "I need you to take care of yourself. You need to sleep too."

Finally, realization dawned. Now that Will was beginning to recover, she could feel him falling back into his usual habit of caring about her well-being more than he cared about his own.

Putting herself in his shoes, Mac noticed for the first time that she was still wearing the jeans and top that she had had on when she left for physiotherapy that morning. She had been able to block it out ever since she found Will cowering in his office bathroom, but now, suddenly, her very skin felt unclean, and the desire to get out of these clothes was overwhelming. Her heart skipped a beat.

"What I really need is a shower," Mac suggested dubiously. "Will you be okay here? I'll be right back."

Will's entire body stiffened, and his hands involuntarily gripped her tighter, but then he nodded resolutely, releasing her.

"I'll be quick," Mac promised, kissing him. She grabbed a change of clothes and scurried into the en-suite before she could change her mind. As an afterthought, she left the bathroom door ajar, so she would never really be out of earshot.

The sight of her reflection in the mirror stopped Mac dead in her tracks, making her take a step backwards in alarm. Cursing softly, she approached the vanity, her eyes widening at the stricken look on her face. If this was what she looked like now, hours later, it was no wonder that Don and the others had wanted her to go straight home.

Catching sight of the scrapes and bruises on her arm, Mac was inadvertently transported back to that moment when she was shoved against the receptionist's desk. In her mind's eye, she heard over and over the sound of the gunshot piercing the wall. She remembered how it felt, trying to shrink herself so small that she would disappear entirely into her chair.

A frisson of fear shot through her, and without even a second thought, Mac withdrew into herself, slamming her mental walls back up and desperately working to strengthen them. _Not yet_, she prayed, shivering. _Please, I'm not ready yet_. Breathing hard, she spared herself one last glance in the mirror before jumping into the shower, turning the hot water on almost all the way.

Ordinarily, she would have spent an hour under the spray, trying and failing to wash away the memories, but tonight, the hot water did nothing to warm her, and she knew that the only way she could even begin to relax would be once she was back in Will's arms. This desire to get back to him was rapidly becoming an urgent _need_, so Mac scarcely took long enough to scrub her face and wash her hair before getting out. Swiftly toweling off, she slipped on a pair of underwear, a sports bra and her favourite grey t-shirt, and hurried back into the bedroom.

It was a good thing that Will was facing away from her, because it gave her time to plaster her calm mask back into place. Despite his earlier attempt at bravado, Will had not moved an inch from where she had left him, except to clutch her pillow against his rigid body.

Sighing, Mac rounded the bed, propping up any extra pillows on her side before climbing in beside him. Reclining against them, her hair still damp, Mac beckoned Will to fall into her arms. He let out an enormous shudder of relief, instantly abandoning the pillow in favour of holding her. He lay most of the way on top of her, his head just below her breasts, their arms wrapped snugly around each other, his body cradled between her thighs.

"There," Mac murmured. Pulling Will more fully on top of her, like he was the best blanket she had ever owned, Mac could not suppress a purr of contentment. "_Finally_," she moaned. "This is the first time all day that I've been properly warm."

"I don't understand how you can be so calm," Will mumbled.

Mac laughed bleakly. "I'm not calm," she said hollowly, one hand teasing at the base of his neck. "I'm numb, I think. I couldn't let myself fall apart while you needed me, so I've spent all day pushing everything to the back of my mind … and now I'm not even sure I know how to stop."

This last bit was, at best, a half-truth, Mac acknowledged. It was fear, more than anything, preventing her from allowing herself to let down her guard, fear of losing control – and Mac knew that Will knew it. She braced herself, waiting for him to call her out on it, but as he so often did, Will managed to surprise her. "Try?" he pleaded quietly. "Try for me? I'll keep you safe."

And somehow, it was as easy as that. Mac nodded and, slowly, began telling each of her muscles to unclench. They protested a little, after being held so rigidly pretty well ever since the phone had been knocked from her hand – this morning felt like a lifetime ago now. But soon enough, her whole body was quivering like jelly in his arms. Mac took several slow, deep breaths, knowing she could rely on Will to hold her together.

Next, she began the more daunting task of bringing down the mental walls that her mind had so hastily thrown up. _You're safe now_, she reminded herself when she started to panic. _You're safe, and you and Will are finally alone, he's the only one here to see you like this_.

But in spite of the fear that had threatened at the edges of her consciousness in the shower, Mac was surprised to find that she didn't just crumble into a sobbing mess the instant she allowed the floodgates to open. Instead, she just felt … empty. It was as though all of her defences had solidified around her, hardening like a shell. Even without her energy devoted to keeping them up, they still held.

"You okay?" Will whispered, stroking her arm when Mac was silent for some time.

Though she could not make herself regret a single decision she made today, Mac wondered, fleetingly, whether she had done more damage than good by allowing so much of the day to pass by without taking care of herself. She was just about to confess this to Will when, finally, she felt the heat from his body begin to seep into hers, and she realized, with relief, that it was simply going to be a matter of time. "I guess I just haven't begun to process everything yet," she shrugged, tightening her arms around him. "When I do, I'm sure it isn't going to be pretty. For now, though, I'm just tired."

And she was, Mac realized as she spoke, weary all the way down to her bones. She yawned, and felt the pull of it as far down as her toes. Her eyes felt as heavy as lead, but she fought against their weight, needing to know that he was going to be okay before she could let go. "Falling asleep," she murmured, drowsily apologetic. "Need me to try to stay awake?"

"No," Will whispered softly. "Just need to keep touching you … if that's okay?"

"Whatever you need," she promised, bending down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "Love you," she murmured, settling back against the pillows and trailing her fingers through his hair once more. This time, she did not resist when her eyes fell shut.

Despite her fatigue, however, slumber didn't claim Mac all at once. For hours, she had been hyper-conscious of Will's every movement, every breath, and that awareness didn't vanish simply because her body had decided to crash. In the back of her sleepy mind, she could feel the last of the residual tension and nerves leaving his body, the trembling easing at last.

Will turned his head, pressing his face into her abdomen, his breath warm on her stomach, through the material of her shirt. He buried his face deeper, inhaling, trying to immerse himself in her scent. She knew it would be some time before he would stop needing to remind himself that she was safe.

Her fingers continued to slide absently through Will's hair as she drifted in and out of consciousness, his lips nuzzling above her bellybutton and along her ribcage. She was almost asleep for good when his lips grazed the skin above her left hip.

Mac flinched violently, her eyes flying open in alarm.

The strength of her response would have sent Mac leaping from the bed altogether, if most of Will's body hadn't been holding her down. Seconds too late, Mac froze, holding herself perfectly rigid beneath him, all thoughts of sleep entirely banished.

Mac held her breath, and stared resolutely up at the ceiling, praying with every cell in her body that Will would be able to look past this reaction … _knowing_ that he would not. He had one arm slung loosely around her waist now, and instead of the comforting weight of his head on her abdomen, she could feel his eyes, gauging her. She knew he could feel the frantic racing of her heart.

Within seconds, the tension was too much to bear. Feeling sicker than she could have imagined possible, Mac gulped, tearing her eyes from the ceiling, and turned her head reluctantly to look down at Will. He gazed back at her, his eyes clearer and calmer than they had been all day.

"Will you tell me why you don't want me to see it?" he asked quietly.

Mac let out a great, choking sob, and scrambled backwards, away from him, until she was sitting pressed against the headboard, clutching her legs to her chest, her face buried in her knees. A second later, she could feel Will moving up the bed toward her, sitting by her feet, just far enough away to give her space if she needed it. When she didn't attempt to retreat any further, he laid a gentle hand on her bare calf, rubbing soothing circles into her skin.

_He's known all along_, Mac realized, her breath hitching over and over again in her throat. _You thought you were being so clever that he'd never catch on, but he's known from the very beginning_. She didn't know whether to feel humiliated that she had been so pathetically transparent, or just unbelievably grateful that he had let her get away with it for so long.

"Do we have to do this now?" Mac shuddered. _Please, I can't, not after everything else that happened today. Please_.

"I think we should, don't you?" Will murmured. "I know you're scared, but we can do this. Let's just get it over with."

_He won't _make_ you_, Mac told herself. _If you refuse, then he'll drop it. But then it'll always be between us_. She could feel the weight of his hand on her leg, telling her without words that he wasn't going anywhere.

Well, maybe it was time.

She forced herself to raise her head, unable just yet to look him in the eye. "It's not – it's not about the scar," Mac gulped. "Not exactly. Other people have seen it, it's not that bad, it's just—" She broke off her agitated rambling, gasping for air, desperately trying to focus on the way that Will was silently stroking her leg.

"It wouldn't be there if I hadn't cheated on you," Mac said at last, her voice cracking. "If I hadn't cheated, I wouldn't have made myself go overseas, so it wouldn't be there. We've come so far, Will, and we're in such a good place right now, but it's always going to be there, reminding me of what we could have had, what we missed out on."

Taking a deep breath, Mac chanced a fleeting glance over at Will. She should have remembered that there would always be some kind of magnetism between them that would make it impossible for her to tear her eyes away again.

Will looked at her thoughtfully for a time, with that gaze of his that always seemed to be seeing right through her. "But that's not the whole reason, is it?" he asked, at last.

"No," she whimpered, both cursing and loving him for knowing her so well.

He waited patiently.

She swallowed hard, her heart thundering in her ears. "When we were together before," she said, her quiet voice quavering, "you used to have this way of looking at me. It just…" She trailed off, unable to find the words for how he had make her feel. She shrugged, and when she spoke again, her voice was ragged. "It was _everything_, Will. I know I screwed up a lot of things for us, but if I destroyed that – if I've even _changed_ that, I—" Mac broke off again, painfully, shaking her head and pressing one hand to her mouth to hold back the rest of that thought.

The way Will was gazing back at her, Mac could see that he was baffled. "Mac," he cajoled, "you know—"

"Don't say it," she begged throatily. "_Please_. I'm more afraid of this than of anything that happened overseas. I _know_ I'm not being rational, okay?"

Will paused, and then sighed, realizing how serious this was. "Okay," he said simply. He leaned over to her, brushing aside her bangs so he could press a kiss to her forehead. "Let's try to get some sleep, okay?"

Mac nodded, though she felt certain that she would not be getting a wink of sleep tonight, not anymore. Still, she allowed Will to turn off the light, and pull her into her usual position, her head tucked under his chin. She clung to him, trembling in his arms, but by the time her heart had stopped racing in her chest, her body betrayed her, and she slipped into a restless and uneasy sleep.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:

I know, I know, it has been an ABSURDLY long time since I updated this. I know! Writer's block is horrible. It was basically written in December, but I just couldn't get it right, somehow … I kept having to change the order of things, and cutting stuff out. I'm still not sure that I'm entirely satisfied with it at this point, but that might be because it looks so different from what I had originally planned. I'd love to hear what you think!

One chapter to go, folks!


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